The Second Time Around
by broodingbrat
Summary: Buttercup Utonium is at her lowest. No powers, no confidence, and no family members she can stand. Enter Butch Jojo. When his actions threaten to break Buttercup's remaining self worth, she'll need her family and friends to save her. And then, she'll need to save THEM - it seems like Butch brought more than just his bad attitude to Townsville.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'The Powerpuff Girls' or any characters/ groups mentioned in this story from TV shows.

 **The Second Time Around**

Buttercup staggered. Her hands and knees scraped against the concrete, and she dry heaved onto the pavement. It wasn't the first time her run had ended with a head dive. Her arms began to shake, and Buttercup dragged a hand across her sweaty face. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists against her eyes until the darkness burst into colourful spots.

Running never helped. Yes, it made her heart race, her legs burn, and her breath rip from her throat, but the adrenaline never came– not like it used to. Buttercup felt herself well up, and ground her hands harder against her eyes.

"Damn Professor," she muttered. He was supposed to have an answer to everything. Yet, he had no solution for her faded powers. The only thing he could give her were those 'words of wisdom', as Blossom had put it: They fade with age, Buttercup. View it as a blessing, Buttercup.

Screw that. Bubbles still had her sonic scream, and Blossom was able to use her ice breath, and they were _all_ sixteen. But she had nothing; if being so pathetic was a blessing, then she'd prefer to be cursed.

"Whoa."

Buttercup's eyes snapped open, but the world in front of her was a multi-coloured blur. She blinked rapidly, and before her eyes had even adjusted, scrambled to her feet.

"I see you're still having a hard time with…. you know." The voice sounded familiar, and as her vision began to clear she could confirm, that yes, it was Mitch.

"No, I don't know," she rasped. But it was a lie. Everyone near to her could tell that even after a month of 'ordinary', she was no closer to coping. It was obvious in the way they tiptoed around her.

Mitch snorted, and reached forward to grasp her chin. He tilted her face left and right, leaning close enough to entirely block the sun's rays. "Been getting any sleep?"

She slapped his hand away. "Quit it. I'm fine. Nothing to _dissect_ here."

Mitch froze.

He was… creepy when they were kids. Everyday he'd slice something open, and every week it'd be larger than the last. A beetle, a wasp, a grass hopper – but it only became truly weird when he started his operations on warm blooded creatures.

"Shit," she muttered, "I didn't mean to bring that up."

He ran a hand over his dark buzz cut, standing at full height. "Just remember you weren't too popular either. Every kid was afraid of you."

Mitch had it fixed in his head that she had been just as lonely as he was, and that was the reason she stuck around his animal-mutilating younger self. Wrong. It was the hero in her. Obviously.

"I wasn't alone back then. Everybody knew me."

His eyebrows shot up. "Everybody knew _about_ you."

"Whatever." She didn't need to re-live the past – especially when he wasn't remembering it right. "So how did you find me anyway?"

He pointed to his right, and she read the building's name: Jubilee Gym. It was then that she noticed Mitch's grey vest top and black shorts. His arms and legs were well sculpted, and suddenly it was clear why. "When did you start hitting the gym?"

"It's been a while actually. You didn't notice?" Buttercup simply shrugged and Mitch chuckled. "Of course you didn't notice."

"I've had my own things going on," she said. Even though she knew she didn't need to explain to Mitch. He was a stoic guy with a soft spot when Buttercup was concerned. He had total control over his emotions, hell, he had control over hers. She would have knocked out half of Townsville without him. "So hey, I'm free tonight, want to hang out?"

"Again?"

"Yeah." She needed a distraction from her life. "It can be your way of apologising to me."

"Why do you think I want to apologise?"

"Because," Buttercup grinned, "you haven't done it yet."

He raised an arm and squinted against a ray of morning sunlight. "Can't make it. I have a date. Besides, we've been hanging out every night for the past few weeks. You need to find something else to occupy your time Buttercup." He rubbed a hand over his buzz cut. "Try and get back into crime fight –"

"Forget it. Shouldn't have asked you."

Mitch nodded, very slowly, and sighed. "Okay. Alright. I'm going to start my workout. Just text me whenever."

"Sure," she said.

The gym's door shut and exhaustion washed over Buttercup. She allowed herself to slouch against the wall as her legs trembled. The drying sweat drew a chill to her skin that left her hair standing on end. With a parched throat, she could imagine how harsh her voice had sounded. But Mitch was harsher; he didn't recognise a cry for help when he heard one.

Buttercup cupped her hands over her mouth and groaned into her palms. But she wanted to scream. She was just so _exhausted_. Everything – everyone – exhausted her.

It was confirmed: running never helped. She had no idea why she kept trying and hoping that it would.

* * *

Buttercup turned the key and stepped through the front door. The Utonium household was a flurry of activity so early in the morning. Based on the novels sprawled across the dining table, Blossom had her book club planned for later; you'd think a popular teen hero would have actual plans for her summer break.

The red head scurried out of the kitchen and into the dining room with a plate full of cookies and three glass cups, realising too late that the dining table was full.

"Buttercup, is that you? A little help please?"

She was tempted to ignore Blossom. But, today at least, her sister had said nothing wrong. "Yeah it's me." She swept the book pile onto the floor, and helped set the cups down. "How'd you guess?"

Blossom glanced at the heap of books; one of the spines had bent inwards. "Hmm? Oh, you never shut the door gently," she muttered, crouching to snatch up her books, "you never seem to do anything gently."

"You're welcome," Buttercup snapped. It was insane to believe she could have had a conversation with the uptight perfectionist for even a second. "I'm heading to the lab, so don't bother me."

"To train? You'll just wear yourself out, we have a sparring session in an hour."

Buttercup turned to her sister. Blossom rarely joked, and when she did, she didn't smile. "So you're inviting me this time, huh?"

The pink eyed puff paused in her book arrangement. When she met Buttercup's gaze there was pity in her eyes. "You have _always_ been welcome. The same way you've always been welcome at missions Buttercup. I don't… we don't understand why you never come."

Buttercup scowled, because anger was the only emotion she could express without breaking down. She wanted to insist that they didn't need her anymore, she wanted to complain that she was the only powerless puff, she wanted to ask how she could defeat a criminal when a sheet of paper could make her bleed. And she wanted to curse, because she was even weaker than freaking _Bubbles_.

Instead she raised her head. "I have better things to do."

Blossom fixed her gaze on Buttercup. At times like these, her pink eyes were unsettling, because she wasn't even watching you anymore. Her mind had wandered. It was like she'd absorbed so much information that her brain was buffering. She blinked and snapped her head sideways, causing her high ponytail to slap against her chest. "…If I give Amy the damaged book, she'll get annoyed and take it out on Daisy again. Leaving her friendless and free for Princess to pick on. No one wants that…" she mumbled, already thinking hours ahead. Blossom stood up and headed to her room, having forgotten Buttercup. Then she paused and glanced back. "You're scared –"

"Maybe you don't know me –"

"Don't be. You're still the toughest fighter."

Buttercup swallowed down a lump in her throat, and Blossom left. Forget training. Her room was the only safe place.

She took the stairs two at a time and collapsed on her bed. It had been a month since she woke up completely powerless. At first she had thrown herself into sparring sessions, often battling both Blossom and Bubbles just to confirm her own self-worth. But when her sisters' remaining powers refused to blink out of existence, she couldn't find the point of it all; if they wanted, they could win. If they tried, they could stop her.

It was the same with every villain out there. What would she use to defeat them? Her good intentions?

Buttercup rolled onto her stomach and groaned into her pillow. She hadn't stopped sweating since she walked through the front door, and now even her bangs were plastered to her forehead. She brushed it aside, but the action only drew her attention to the strands clinging to her shoulder blades. And to think, she had begun to admire the length. For a brief while, she had even understood why Blossom insisted on such a long ponytail. Through knife attacks, explosions, and near-misses, her pink eyed sister had never willingly trimmed an inch from her head; it was bordering on obsessive. Buttercup could count to infinity, the occasions when Blossom's rope of red hair was used to hurl, fling, and slam her into buildings.

Actually, maybe she should bring it up. Back then it was funny, but now… well, Bossy Bloss in the hospital would be irritating for everyone involved. Buttercup made a mental note to stage an intervention.

A knock sounded at her door. She didn't bother answering.

"Buttercup?" It was Bubbles. She knocked again, harder this time. "Buttercup? Blossom said you'd finished your run. Buttercup?"

Christ. You'd think she was trying to memorise her name or something. " _What_?" she snapped, already knowing how the conversation would flow. Bubbles was somewhat predictable; when there was an argument, she'd take the side that caused less conflict. In this case, Blossom's.

There was a pause. "We, uh, we're going to spar now – Blossom and I. It will be great if you come… I mean we hardly see you anymore."

Buttercup shut her eyes; she'd heard this once today already. Taking a deep breath she reminded herself that this was Bubbles – annoying, nosy, _well-intentioned_ Bubbles. "No thanks," she replied evenly.

"Oh. Are you sure? We could train somewhere else. I mean, I do need to ask you something, so maybe just you and –"

"I'm sure." Peeling herself off the bed, she scanned the desk for her iPhone. Her battery was low, but she quickly texted Mitch: _Want to hang right now?_

 _Sounds good. But why now?_ Came his lightning quick response.

She didn't want to be anywhere near her sisters. Not when they were honing their skills and testing their abilities – abilities she no longer had. They'd be judging her, gauging just how much of a failure she was with their _own_ eyes. But she'd never admit this to Mitch. So instead, she just texted: _I'm going crazy._

She stripped out of her workout gear and entered the shower without even waiting for his reply.

* * *

Buttercup checked her phone again, it had been an hour and two minutes since she last texted Mitch, with no response. Who was separated from their phone for a whole hour?

There was a chill in the air, and the late morning sky looked like it was about to give way to a storm. Buttercup wrapped her varsity jacket tighter around herself and glared at the trailer door. Mitch knew she was coming. So where the hell was he?

She thought about knocking, but then quickly scrapped the idea. Mitch's trailer was already decorated with a variety of fist-sized dents, courtesy of Buttercup's super powered temper, so Mitch's mum wasn't exactly fond of her. Apparently she wasn't the 'sort' he should be associating with. Buttercup found this funny. Her temper had protected Mitch from vicious rumours and rampant spit balls on more than one occasion. She was like his own freaking guardian angel.

She tapped her foot repeatedly as the sky began to darken. Finally she decided to text Mitch again: _You do realise it only takes ten minutes from my place to yours, right?_

 _I'm not at my place, my mum's home._

 _Where r you?_ She wrote, already backing away from the trailer.

 _Junkyard._

 _?_ She texted back.

 _You said you were going crazy – that usually means you want to hit something._

She sighed and began to jog. Mitch knew her well, she'd give him that. But the junkyard was on the other side of town. It hadn't been a significant distance when she could fly, but now her legs felt like lead and her lungs were screaming with the effort. She paused and clutched her side as a stitch formed.

Above her, thunder clapped and the first streak of lighting illuminated the sky. Buttercup had half a mind to cancel. She pulled out her phone, only to find that the battery had died. "Shit," she muttered. And then a raindrop slapped against her forehead. "Come _on_!"

Stuffing the phone into her pocket, she searched herself for change. By the time she had inspected each section, even her jacket was dripping. Buttercup scowled at every single person who so much as peeked in her general direction. She wanted to ditch Mitch. And if she hadn't been so damn sure that he'd wait for her out in this storm, then she'd have been long gone.

She made an attempt to neaten her drenched fringe and then stepped out into the road. A car swerved, barely skidding to a halt in front of her. "Hey," she said coolly, leaning against the car's front hood.

The driver wound down his window, at first stunned, and then… not. "What the hell is wrong with you? Get off the freaking road! I could have died, you crazy –"

"I'm Buttercup Utonium. I have Powerpuff business," she said, fighting to keep a straight face. Blossom had always been against using their superhero status for 'perks'. But honestly, the Mayor didn't even give them a pay check.

"I don't care if you have business with the bloody Avengers, just get the hell out of my way!"

Buttercup paused. Was this guy kidding? "Listen man, I'm _Buttercup Utonium_. I've saved this town's ass more times than you've taken a dump."

"Yeah? Call me when you've saved Citiesville." He snorted. "Look at you walking around like you're something special – I hear you 'heroes' don't even have powers anymore!"

Buttercup scratched welts into his paintjob; If only she could carve strokes through his engine. "This town is about to blow to pieces," she lied. "And yes, that means you and your lopsided toupee will also go flying. So we should really help each other out."

The driver's face was now beet red. He revved his engine.

Buttercup took a step back from the car, and planted her feet. The rain was blurring her vision, and now even her bra was well and truly soaked. "Or, you could just run me over and be thrown in jail. We have some really interesting guys in there. You see we don't discriminate; the 'power proof' jail is for _everyone_."

She flashed a smile. It was meant to be superior – like something Blossom would give if her robotic hard drive allowed happiness – but she'd been told too many times, by too many people, that she couldn't quite pull off 'superior', it was always 'sinister'.

The driver swore under his breath. His nostrils flared, and his glare was harsh enough that she actually felt a small kernel of guilt.

And then, his engine cut.

Buttercup jumped inside.

"You're dripping all over my seats," he growled.

She sat back, knowing full well there would be a wet imprint when she left. "You know the Junkyard right? It's the large eyesore you passed on your way into town. Take me there."

"Spoiled brat," he spat. But still, he drove.

* * *

 **I'm back. And I can't seem to write anything else until I get this story out of my system. Update soon! Don't forget to R &R**


	2. Chapter 2

Buttercup leapt out of the car and hit the floor running. At this point she just wanted to find Mitch. She was soaked from head to toe, and the rain showed no signs of stopping. Lightning flashed across the sky and the thunder was loud enough to make her flinch.

The Junkyard was a maze of skeletal cars and abandoned tires, each forming lopsided towers that suddenly looked unstable in the swirling wind. She made her way to their spot, and in true idiot fashion Mitch was waiting for her. Thank goodness he'd had the sense to find shelter.

She ducked under the sheet of metal wedged between two towering cars. "Anyone else would have left. What's wrong with you?" She yelled over the loud pattering of rain.

He waved his phone in her face. "Reply to my texts Buttercup."

"My phone died," she muttered, already feeling guilty; he wasn't even wearing a coat, just a stretched out navy t-shirt.

"What?" He yelled, leaning closer.

"I said, 'let's go'."

"Don't you want to smash things?" He shouted.

She did. She wanted to snatch up the first steel pole she could find and pound into the cars until she was out of breath, and her arms ached, and the voices in her head were drowned out by the screeching of metal. Because all she could hear was the phrase 'you heroes don't even have your powers', and every variation she'd heard over the past month was eerily similar. People thought she was weak; they labelled her as pathetic. And she couldn't even argue because she thought the same thing.

So yeah, she _needed_ to wreck something. But still…

"Let's just go," she yelled again. It would be beyond idiotic to mess around with a steel pole in the middle of a storm.

"Alright then." He paused. "Looks like the rain is calming down a bit."

"But the damage is already done." She made a point of squeezing out droplets from her stringy bangs.

Mitch stepped out from the safety of the steel sheet. He looked like he'd just been to a tropical island compared to Buttercup. The only drops of rain were on his shoes. Buttercup stepped out and strode towards the Junkyard's exit. "Are you coming?"

"We can still –"

"Nope." She glanced at the sky. The rain might have stopped but the lighting was still going strong. "We really can't. Not unless you want to fry."

He fell in step beside her. "'Fry'. And what makes you think I won't get superpowers?"

She smirked; he really just set her up for these. "People who get powers always have some kind of redeeming quality. You know, admirable bravery, unwavering selflessness, an unbreakable determination, but you…"

He snorted. "Then somebody screwed up with Buttercup Utonium."

Her smirk withered away. "I can't believe I ran all the way across town for you."

"You ran?"

"Yeah," she lied.

"Let me re-phrase that." He stared down at her. " _You_ ran?"

She turned to face him. "What? You think I can't run?"

"You were passed out in front of my gym earlier this morning." He said this with cool control, as if it was a fact and not a complete insult to her physical state.

"I wasn't _passed out_." She spat.

"You were practically…"

His words trailed off, and Buttercup nudged him. Hard. "Practically what, Mitchelson?" He was focused on something behind her and his mouth went slack. Buttercup spun around.

She tensed. She hadn't seen this face in over six years, and honestly, she could have lived with sixty more.

"Butch Jojo?" Mitch murmured, but his voice seemed to carry even over the clap of thunder.

Buttercup swiped her bangs away from her eyes – she couldn't miss even a muscle spasm. The raven haired boy stood with an impossible slouch, like he was leaning against an invisible wall. His jaw was tipped skywards, and stamped with the same grin he used to flash six years ago – right before he tossed a woman off a skyscraper, or kicked a plane out of the sky.

Buttercup stepped closer. Butch had a wiry athletic frame and was an inch or three taller than her; probably thanks to his hair. It was spiked skywards like he was trying to convince the lightning, that yes, he was most certainly the highest point in Townsville.

"Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of," Buttercup barked.

Finally, and very slowly, Butch righted his posture and faced her. "You're some kind of hero, right? Being hospitable and welcoming is part of your job description."

 _He_ could not lecture her. "You can tell me off when you quit stealing candy from kids."

He raised an eyebrow. "…You won't even ask why I'm here?"

"Don't push me," she hissed. Townsville didn't need a Rowdyruff boy; another villain for the near powerless puffs. "Leave. Or I will _drag_ you out."

Butch's lips stretched into a tight grin. "Not happening."

Buttercup leapt forward; it was a matter of pride. She had to salvage what was left of her superhero status. The simple fact that Butch could appear in front of her was a massive challenge to everything she was. Plus, she just didn't like the guy.

Buttercup swung high and her fist brushed against Butch's jaw as he skipped back. She followed quickly, stamping down and grinding his foot beneath her sole. With a yell she snapped her knee up, hitting Butch full in the gut.

He gasped and rocked forward, shutting his eyes and clutching his stomach. Buttercup had known Butch would be weak. It made sense: he was her counterpart.

She kicked out.

Butch caught it. " _Enough_ already." He gripped her ankle with hands of steel. Buttercup felt a burning pressure at every point his fingers squeezed. Her bones suddenly felt unbearably brittle.

"Get off," she grunted, attempting to yank her foot back. Her muscles seemed to tear apart with each pull. "Get the hell off me!" She yelled, voice wavering, she was certain her ankle would shatter.

Mitch materialised at her side. "You know Butch, things won't look too good for you when her sisters show up."

Butch released Buttercup's ankle like it had burnt him. "I didn't come here for a fight."

She stumbled back and fell on her butt. Mitch crouched down and gripped her elbow. "You okay?"

She snatched her arm away. He called Blossom and Bubbles. Could he make it any more obvious that she was useless? That she was a complete non-threat? That now, she was the type of person who needed to be _saved_?

Buttercup glared at her ankle. Already it was swollen and tinted a vibrant red – like a beacon for lost ships. Thanks to her jean shorts, the throbbing lump was proudly displayed and Buttercup desperately wished she had worn her sweatpants.

With a deep breath, she hauled herself up, smothering a groan when her heel hit the ground. Mitch shot her a questioning glance and again offered his hand. She shoved it away. The pain from her ankle was making it difficult to even form curse words. And boy did she have a lot for the two morons in her presence. "You have super strength," she managed to spit out.

Butch nodded, annoyance warping his features. "Bet you wish you knew that before you tried to kick my head in."

"No, not really," she sneered, "If I had that information, the only thing I would have done differently was win."

"You're still so damn –" Butch took a deep breath, and just like that, his features smoothed. "This isn't getting us anywhere. You're not the one I should have approached. I was just hoping for a little understanding from my own freaking counterpart, but obviously, you haven't matured with the rest of the world. Still irrationally angry."

"Insults? You said you didn't come here to fight." Butch said nothing and she took that as a sign. "I want answers. Why do you still have your super strength? It makes no sense." But what she really meant was, why you and not me? Why the villain and not the hero? Why the freaking _injustice_?

Butch's tone became exasperated. "You were made in a lab with chemical X. And _I_ was created in a prison cell – nothing about us 'makes sense'. Quit trying to guess what will happen next."

So, there was no guarantee that all the counterparts had the same powers. Out of the six counterparts, was she the only one who was completely powerless? Did one of them still have all their powers? And did Butch have any more hidden abilities?

"Why did you come looking for us?" Mitch said.

Buttercup kicked herself. It should have been the first thing she asked – it would have been the first thing Blossom asked.

Butch examined Mitch from head to toe, and then turned to Buttercup. "Does he always do the talking? I thought you were the one with the 'hero' status."

Buttercup dampened her flaring annoyance. "Answer the damn question."

Butch lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. It's about time someone asked me anyway – I'm here to offer my help."

Buttercup raised an eyebrow, hopefully it made him feel as small as when Blossom did it to her. "And how could you possibly help me?"

"By helping Townsville."

"You want to _help_ the people you terrorised, tortured, and tormented?" She snorted. "Not buying it. Take your bull elsewhere."

He examined her for a few seconds before nodding, ever so slowly. "Believe what you want then. It's _Blossom_ I need to convince, right?"

Low blow. She was ready to shoot back an insult, when a thought cut its way through the fog of anger. "…What kind of help are you offering?"

His lips quirked up. "The superhero kind. You could use another body; another power. I mean, how long do you think Townsville will last with the less-than-powerful puffs?"

Sheesh. He couldn't be civil for even a second.

"Not an insult," he added, noticing her expression, "just an observation." Buttercup remained silent, and Butch sighed heavily. "People change, okay? I'm just trying to set things straight – get rid of some bad karma. What type of hero are you if you wont even let me do that?"

This is what Bubbles would call a 'moment', Buttercup mused. That brief minute when someone would lower their guard and reveal a vulnerable side you never expected, blah, blah, blah. This was a Jojo: they didn't do 'vulnerable'. Not for real.

"You believe in _karma_?" she sneered. The 'are you stupid?' was heavily implied. She wouldn't be swayed. She wouldn't allow him to convince her of a heart he didn't have.

"Ya." He said, his expression instantly souring. "I also believe in destiny and fate and Homo sapiens who can _fly_ –"

The screech of tires drowned out the rest of Butch's sentence. Buttercup looked beyond his shoulder and scowled when she saw the orange Hummer – it was offensive – and not just because it was ugly as hell.

* * *

 **Enjoy! Updates every Saturday**


	3. Chapter 3

Blossom stepped out, flanked by Bubbles, and she could just make out the trembling hands of the Professor at the wheel: he never could get used to confrontation. Blossom's steps were quick and light as she swept past Butch and just stared at the green puff.

"Awesome." Buttercup said. "You girls are here? I'm saved."

Blossom's lips thinned, but she remained silent and turned to face Butch. The only sign that she was even remotely disturbed was the stray wisp of hair that clung to her neck. Buttercup had never seen her sister's ponytail so messy.

"How did you find Buttercup? Why are you here? And where are your brothers?" Bubbles moved to stand on Blossom's right, and Buttercup limped to her left. "You have five seconds Butch Jojo. Give me answers before I decide they're no longer worth hearing."

Butch shook his head, slowly. "Perfect. You're more aggressive than this one," he said, nodding towards Buttercup.

"Two seconds." Vapour escaped from Blossom's mouth, and Buttercup noticed the now dulled hue of her sister's lips. It wasn't the storm – this was an entirely different level of cold.

Butch took half a step back and chuckled. "Hey. Whoa. No need for that. I'm always happy to hear the sound of my own voice. Let's see…Counterparts have a connection. I want to try out the whole 'hero' thing. And my brothers are far far away."

The corners of Blossom's eyes crinkled in annoyance. Butch's grin never slipped, but Buttercup noticed that his shoulders were beginning to tense.

"That tells me _nothing_. You stroll into Townsville, injure my family, and then have the audacity to joke around?" Blossom's voice was a low hiss.

Bubbles placed a hand on Blossom's arm, and her red-haired sister took a deep breath, smoothed out her ponytail, and looked to the ground.

When she raised her head there wasn't a trace of emotion. Buttercup had seen this stoic expression so often growing up that she wondered if _this_ was the real Blossom. This side of her sister was cold, indifferent, and calculating – Buttercup called it 'leader mode'. Bubble's simply called it 'creepy'.

"We'll let you 'try out the hero thing'," Blossom intoned. "You'll do what I say, when I say. I'll make use of your abilities, your time, your knowledge, and the second you become useless, you'll serve your twenty years in Townsville Penitentiary."

Butch's grin faltered. "I'm a hostage?"

"You're a criminal. Records don't disappear just because _you_ do." There it was. That superiority.

She'd given Butch exactly what he wanted, but somehow, she'd won.

Bubbles stepped forward and held Butch's elbow. It looked like she was using a lot of force, but Butch didn't even budge. It wasn't until he'd taken a breath and nodded his acceptance that Bubbles was finally able to move him.

Whatever his plan, he wanted this.

Bubbles led him towards the Hummer. When they travelled out of ear shot, Blossom turned to Mitch. "Thanks for calling."

Buttercup's lips curled. "Don't sound so grateful. I'm pretty sure I would have escaped with my life."

"Well, good to hear," Mitch said, "bye."

"'Bye'?" Buttercup parroted. "We're not done here."

"I'll walk back to town. No need to give me a lift."

"Mitch."

"Buttercup, there isn't anything to argue over. I know you think there is. But… no." He looked away. The weather was starting to clear up, so it was easy to hear the slight edge to his voice – the one that meant she was annoying him. "You can't be mad that I'm looking out for you. Just…. I don't know, head home and cool down. I'll drop by some time and if I'm still enemy number one, then you can yell at me."

"You're always enemy number one," but her words had no bite; her anger was fading fast.

"…So I guess I won't be visiting at all then." It almost sounded like a question.

"Good." She replied. She wasn't angry exactly. But… Mitch had as little faith in her as she did. It was jarring to discover that.

He paused, and then slowly, he nodded. "Alright then…Just text me when we're okay."

Buttercup said nothing, and he left.

"You two seem close."

Buttercup startled. She'd forgotten Blossom was there. But now that she knew, it felt like her relationship with Mitch would be cross-examined in the near future.

"Even when you're arguing, there's a fondness between the two of you," Blossom mused.

Ah. Nearer than she'd thought. "I noticed. I'm actually one half of the friendship."

And then, silence. It occurred to Buttercup that she never spoke to Blossom. Besides the arguments and obligatory greetings when they were in the same breathing space, they didn't talk like sisters should.

Buttercup felt guilt twist in her stomach. "So, he's my best friend, you know? Been that way since Kindergarten."

"Why hasn't he made a move?" Blossom muttered.

Buttercup's head snapped towards her.

But the pink puff wasn't even acknowledging her. Blossom's gaze was glued to the Hummer that Butch occupied. "He's in a confined space with super strength," she continued, "he has two potential hostages. But he just… sits?"

Hostages. Huh. Buttercup suddenly remembered why she had a non-existent relationship with the pink puff. Blossom was a hero first and a sister second. If she had to toss her family under the bus for the 'greater good', she would, without even asking if they minded the damn tire tracks.

"The moment he falters, he's gone."

Buttercup should be used to this – to _her_. But she wasn't. "And what's stopping you from hauling his ass to jail right this second? Release your inner bitch. We all know you have one."

Blossom's expression turned to stone. "Buttercup, if you want to lash out, I suggest you find a better time and a more accepting target. I don't have the patience to be caught in one of your tantrums."

Buttercup scowled. "Yeah? You ever wonder why there are so many 'tantrums' around you Bloss—" She paused. Blossom wasn't just irritated, she was _angry_.

Why? Because of Butch, the super strong Jojo who she controlled? The same Jojo who was currently an angel of peace? "You can toss Butch in jail at any point. Why are you stressing out?"

Blossoms lips thinned, ever so slightly.

Buttercup didn't even try to dampen the grin stamped across her face. "You lied. Blossom the almighty _lied_." Buttercup cackled. "The _second_ Butch finds out, poor Blossom loses control. You have nothing to stop him from…from…"

Tearing Townsville apart. Ending the Powerpuffs.

Buttercup hadn't realised that Blossom was at a disadvantage. She commanded the earlier situation with so much authority that she didn't think, for even a second, that her sister was anxious.

"Butch and his brothers were 10 when they attacked Townsville; the Mayor kept that in mind. It didn't matter how many times they threw someone over a building, held up a bank, or terrified our citizens. They were still just… children. So the Mayor gave them immunity until they become adults. He didn't want their 'childhood mistakes' to ruin their lives."

"That's crazy." The Mayor's one moment of clarity, and he used it for insanity. "'Childhood mistakes'? It's not like those guys refused to eat their veggies, or forgot to leave out cookies for Santa Claus. We're talking about attempted murder, blackmail, robbery –"

"I know Buttercup. I said the same thing to him six years ago. But what's done is done." Blossom glanced at the Hummer. "We'll just have to work around the Mayor's oversight."

"Again." Buttercup spat. It wasn't the first time the Mayor had made a stupid-ass decision without consulting any of the people it would affect. Buttercup scrubbed a hand across her forehead. "So… what? We can't touch him until he turns 18?"

Blossom nodded. "We'll have to keep an eye on him – keep him close… At least this way his super strength will be put to good use."

"Don't tell me you're seriously thinking of fighting side by side with that joker."

Blossom inspected the cuffs of her pink button down shirt. "We'll all be doing exactly that. But think of it more like babysitting."

The green puff folded her arms. "I don't babysit."

Blossom pulled her cuff forward, swift and sharp. "Look. Buttercup. Stop being so difficult; this is a win-win situation for us. We'll use Butch's fire power and our battles will be easier, quicker. When the time is right, and he commits a crime—any crime—we'll convince the Mayor to end the Jojo's immunity. Problem solved."

Right. Win-win. Except that at this very moment, Butch held all the cards. Blossom was ignoring that in favour of the future 'benefits'. Buttercup blew out a breath. "Whatever. Let's just hope this 'counterpart connection' thing doesn't transfer intelligence."

Blossom made a sound of disbelief. "There's clearly no such thing. If it were true, the Professor would've told us."

Buttercup just shrugged and made her way towards the car. How did Butch know exactly where to find her if there was no connection? He was weirdly accurate.

Her steps slowed. She was now only a meter away from the Hummer, and her lips curled in distaste. She actually had to sit in that car with him – just to prove that the girls were truly in control.

Butch caught her eye as she limped closer. He reached across Bubbles and wound down a window. She flinched. "So," Butch dragged out the word, "If I'm a hostage, does that make you my kidnapper? I wonder who the villain in this situation is?"

When Buttercup remained silent, he flashed a smile. "What do you think, Ballerina?" He said, clearly referring to her busted ankle.

"Irony. Funny." The douche.

She opened the door that Bubbles was cowering against, and barely caught her sister as she fell. "You're practically taking up the entire row Bubbles. Just sit in front with the Professor."

"Uh… I'm okay. I mean, Blossom said –"

"It's fine. She can sit back here with me." Buttercup shouldered her way inside before Bubbles could gather her words. Every muscle in her body was tense, but she forced herself to slouch against the leather cushions.

Butch was close – too close for comfort. _He_ was the one who was supposed to be uncomfortable, but he looked like he was completely at peace. Ugh. The douche.

* * *

 **Hope you liked it. Thoughts and opinions welcome.**


	4. Chapter 4

Buttercup tapped her foot against the floor boards. She sat hunched over on the couch, listening to Blossom explain the situation to Bubbles for the third time. Yet, she still looked utterly confused.

"So… Butch is our teammate?" Bubbles asked.

Blossom scooted forward on the opposite end of the couch. "No. Don't ever think that. We're merely keeping him close until a time comes when we can lock him away permanently."

Buttercup pulled the professor's lab coat tighter around her shoulders. Her clothes had dried against her skin, but some patches were still damp. "Look, we've been talking for ages, and it's getting dark out. If we're not going to make any actual decisions, I don't see why I need to be here."

"What kind of decisions did you have in mind?" Blossom asked.

"For starters, who'll be first to babysit Butch?" Buttercup asked. "I was thinking the one with the bright idea to be bring him here should volunteer."

Blossom stood and smoothed out her skirt. "I'm afraid you'll be taking the lead on this Buttercup."

"What? This was _your_ plan. You said all of us would do it. You're not pushing him onto me."

"Buttercup."

"Ice Queen." The way Blossom said her name… she hated it. It sounded like a teacher explaining something to a toddler. As if, any second, she'd bust out a picture book and begin slowly enunciating her words.

Blossom folded her arms. "You don't do a single thing as a Powerpuff. You're not present at stakeouts, hostage rescues, or even public appearances. It's been months since you've done anything remotely related to hero duties."

Buttercup worked her jaw.

"So I'm sure you'll have plenty of time – more time than Bubbles and I – to chaperone Butch."

She wanted to refuse. At this moment, purely to piss Blossom off. But her sister didn't take part in empty arguments. Blossom was a debater. And every damn word she said made sense.

Buttercup realised that she had no legitimate reason to refuse, short of saying _I don't want to_.

"I don't–" Her voice stuck in her throat; saying those words would etch in stone that she was useless to the team.

Blossom cocked her head, when the silence stretched on she rose from her seat. "I'm glad you understand."

Buttercup scowled as Blossom began to walk out of the living room. Everything about her was irritating. "'I'm glad you understand'," she mimicked, draining all emotion from her voice and pronouncing each syllable. "What am I? Your employee?" she muttered.

Blossom's steps didn't falter; it was tough to tell if she'd even heard. Buttercup blew out a breath and flung her feet onto the couch. She sprawled across the entire length and hid her face in the crook of her arm.

It seemed like she was on bad terms with everyone she knew. But it wasn't her fault that Blossom was emotionally detached, Bubble's lived in her own little world, and Mitch had no faith in her. It wasn't her fault that they didn't _get_ her.

And now she had another person to put up with. Butch. He was probably pacing right now, wearing a hole through the professor's squeaky clean tiles down in the lab. She wanted to believe that the idea of prison terrified him, but Buttercup had a feeling that he was only behaving himself because of his own ulterior motives. Whatever they really were.

It'd be stupid to believe that he'd actually transformed into a decent person.

There was a soft cough and Buttercup dragged her arm away from her eyes. Huh. How long had Bubbles been there?

"Hi," said Bubbles.

"Hey." Buttercup wanted to cover her eyes again. It wasn't that she disliked Bubbles. They just had nothing in common. Especially now that Buttercup didn't crime fight.

Buttercup lifted her arm, slowly, trying to fall back into her own thoughts-

"Thank you," Bubbles said.

"Huh?"

"Thanks for earlier, you know, in the car. You helped me out with…Butch."

Buttercup nodded. "No problem, you looked like you needed saving."

"Yeah," Bubbles gave a brief laugh. "It's kind of horrible to sit next to someone who –"

"Could snap your neck with his big toe?"

Bubble's blinked. "Uh, yeah." Silence, and then, "how would you snap a neck with a big toe?"

Buttercup sat up. "Well, he has super strength. He can just," Buttercup made several hand motions, each one representing a toe and a snapped neck. "You know?"

Bubbles laughed and shook her head.

She was always smiling or making someone else smile. Buttercup wondered what the world looked like to her. It must be a very bright place.

When her laughter died down, she tucked her blonde locks behind her ear. Buttercup instantly got a flashback of her sister's pig tails, worn all the way through Elementary and Middle school, they were puffed blonde balls stuck onto either side of her head. It looked like they'd been hacked up and super glued to her skull. For the better part of their childhood, she'd called Bubbles 'Hairball'. Unoriginal, but it always cracked her up.

Now she had to smother a grin. They weren't kids anymore, and it wasn't funny. It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny…. But damn, it was funny.

"Buttercup?"

"Yeah?" She said, smoothing out her expression. The strands Bubbles had tucked behind her ear sprung out. Her wavy bob was almost as short as Buttercup's hair.

"I wanted to ask you something. Before. This morning, I mean. Uh, do you remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." In truth she'd completely forgotten. "Spit it out."

"Yeah. Okay. So I'm going to get changed now."

"Right," Buttercup dragged out the word.

"And I'm going on a date." She said in a rush.

Buttercup put a hand on her neck. "Oh. Cool. That's… nice." She didn't understand why she was on the receiving end of this conversation. Was she supposed to pick out Bubble's outfit? Expected to give flirting advice? "I'm not the best person to talk to about this stuff," she said, heading for the staircase, "try Blossom."

"I'm going with Mitch!" she cried.

"Right, right and I'm going on a date with Butch." She grinned, but when she looked at Bubbles, her head was hung and her fists were clenched. Buttercup's grin withered away. "Really? You and…Mitch?"

Bubbles nodded.

"Weird," she simply said. Mitch had kept that quiet. Then again, their love lives weren't something they talked about in detail. Probably because neither had any serious relationships worth discussing. Still, this was different. He should have at least dropped Bubble's name into the conversation.

"Are you okay with it?" Bubbles asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's weird." Mitch and Bubbles. The skinhead with advanced emotional maturity and the sentimental hairball who still teared up when Buttercup crushed a spider. She couldn't see them working as a couple. But, whatever. "Are _you_ okay with it?" Buttercup asked. "Rumour has it that Mitch can't grow his hair out. That low-cut look? Not a choice."

Bubble's blinked more times than necessary. "So… it's alright then?"

"Yeah, date whoever you want. It's a non- issue."

A smile burst across her face. "I was so worried!" She laughed, a sort of high pitched giggle. "So, do you think you can maybe help me pick out an outfit? Something Mitch will –"

"That is not happening," Buttercup snapped, heading to the staircase and taking the steps two at a time.

When she got to her room she pulled off her clothes and threw on a long baggy t-shirt. She plugged in her phone charger and immediately texted Mitch.

 _Changed my mind. You can come over._

 _Our shortest fight ever_ , he replied a few minutes later.

 _Yeah._ She shouldn't have blamed him for calling her sisters. He thought she couldn't beat Butch; he was probably right. But even as she typed the word, it left a bitter taste behind. She deleted it.

A few minutes later, Mitch texted again. _Can't make it. Got a date in an hour._

This was usually where their conversation would end, or change direction. But he had never mentioned Bubbles, not even in passing. Buttercup had no idea that Mitch even had a crush. They were best friends— she wanted him to say it.

 _With who?_ She typed.

 _Weird question coming from you._ His replies were coming slower.

 _Yeah. So, who?_

She tapped on her phone as the minutes stretched on. He should know her well enough. It'd be weird and slightly awkward, but their relationship wouldn't bug her.

Her phone beeped. _Bubbles,_ the message read.

* * *

 **Sorry for the wait. Enjoy**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the awesome reviews.**

* * *

Mitch drank his smoothie, taking three-second slurps before coming up for air. Buttercup didn't understand how he had an appetite sitting beside the Professor's lab experiments. The stink of hydrogen sulfide made her gag.

"You're not saying much," Mitch observed, "Problem?"

"It's 6am and I'm fully conscious. There's your problem," she snapped. She didn't get much sleep these days – not with all her doubts and insecurities having a Battle Royale in her freaking head. When she'd finally fallen asleep, Blossom had woken her up to watch over Butch.

She rested her head on the table top. The marble was cool against her cheek— enough to keep her alert. Butch slept propped against the massive dome cell that Blossom had created; she'd reverse engineered one of the Professor's personal force field devices. And it looked pretty tough. But still, Blossom insisted that they couldn't keep him locked up. Technically, they were breaking the law right now.

Buttercup groaned and slid off her stool. She shuffled towards the metal contraption beside the transparent dome.

Butch's mouth hung slightly open. His previously spiked hair was matted to his head, as dark as the circles under his eyes. What did _he_ have to worry about? What could possibly make him lose sleep? His eyebrows furrowed and soft wheezes slipped from his mouth, quicker with each passing second.

Butch was having a nightmare.

He looked small, curled in on himself, and buried in black clothing. In the seconds between each wheeze his face was completely still, calm, almost…handsome. Buttercup reached, almost touching the dome.

"What are you doing?" Mitch called.

"Nothing." She snatched her hand away.

She glanced at Mitch. He went back to slurping his smoothie and this time each swig was longer: four seconds, five seconds, six seconds. Sheesh.

"Why are you even here Mitch?"

"I said I'd check up on you. How's your ankle?"

She twisted her foot left and right. As soon as the swelling had reduced, it had hardly bothered her. "I have a high pain tolerance. I'm alright," she replied. "Now why are you really here?"

"To watch you chaperone a supervillain," he didn't smile but there was a teasing crinkle to his eyes, "your sister told me. She's on a mission with Blossom, right? You have your work cut out for you."

She assumed he meant Bubbles. But he never said her name. "Don't make things weird Mitch."

He slurped his smoothie; she could tell that the freaking cup was empty. "Weird how?"

"You never say Bubbles' name. You've never spoken about her. You didn't even tell me you had a thing for her."

He nodded. "Because you always look uncomfortable when relationship talk comes up."

"Well, I'm not." She lied.

"You're not uncomfortable?"

"I'm not."

"Okay then."

When the silence held for several seconds, Buttercup went back to her original task. She crouched, searching for the correct dial on the metal contraption; the one that would deactivate the dome prison. She twisted a small black nob and the dome vanished.

Butch's eyes flung open.

Buttercup steeled herself.

But he wasn't paying her any attention. It looked like his nightmare had got the better of him. There was now a sheen of sweat clinging to his forehead and his pale skin was nearly camouflaged with the washed-out floor tiles.

He slowly lifted his head, chest heaving.

Buttercup felt she should say something. "You're not dying right?"

He snorted.

Buttercup looked at Mitch. He shrugged, "Uh, want some water man?"

Butch nodded.

"Be right back," Mitch said, heading upstairs.

Butch glanced at Buttercup. "Finally let me out of my cage, huh? So tell me, who needs saving?" He stood up and swiped his hand across his forehead. "Brainiac? Blondie?" he prompted.

Mitch entered with a bottle of water and tossed it her way. She handed it to Butch. "Drink up and take a shower. That's all." She wasn't running a hero training camp. They weren't going to skip through Townsville as a crime fighting duo. He was being used for the tough battles. And right now, he wasn't needed. "Follow me upstairs and I'll show you around. After that, stay out of my way."

Buttercup expected a snarky reply, but instead he just took a swig of water. The colour was returning to his face, but he wasn't quite his pain-in-the-ass self.

"Hey," Mitch said, typing away on his phone, "I need to run out for a second. My mum's lost her keys again."

Buttercup frowned. "Didn't you say you wanted to watch me chaperone a super villain? You live in a trailer. Any kid off the street can pick that lock." She didn't want to be left alone with Butch. He was too compliant, too calm. It made her uneasy.

"Nice Buttercup. Nice." Mitch stuffed his phone into his pocket and headed for the stairs.

"Oh, come on. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that she doesn't need you. But I -" She'd almost said something stupid. Almost admitted that she wanted his support because big bad Butch was around. Almost showed the bad guy just how much he affected her.

Mitch exhaled, his back to her. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I know what you were trying to say. I've been deciphering your comments for years." There wasn't a shred of anger, just a weary undertone that weighed his words. Then he waved, and suddenly it seemed like he was back to normal. "I've got you. Just give me a sec. and I'll be right back."

"Actually, don't bother."

She didn't like the vibe she got. Like she was a burden. Like dealing with her was wearing him out. It was just for a second, but she'd never felt that way around Mitch. "I just remembered that I've got a lot of things to sort out today. You can't hang here. You'll get in my way."

He gave his signature slow motion nod – the type he used when he was contemplating a situation or controlling his emotions. "Alright then," he said, "I'll see you around." He jogged up the stairs.

A knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

"…So much drama so early in the morning."

The knot burst into flames. "Shut the hell up Jojo."

"So, you've got a lot of things to do today, huh?" he continued. Clearly, whatever effects the nightmare had on him, had vanished. He had no problem speaking his mind. "Like what? Are we going on a mission? Or getting in a workout?"

"I'm catching up on TV shows," she deadpanned.

He snorted. "What? Heroes don't train these days?"

She regretted engaging in a conversation. "Mind your own damn business."

She peeked at the training room. She'd purposely avoided it. Stretched out from wall to wall was the duranium chamber. They'd often used it for simple puff-on-puff sparring sessions, but sometimes they'd trained with advanced battle simulations. A couple of months ago she was the best, reaching level 25 of the 30 level construct. She wasn't eager to see where she ranked now.

Buttercup nudged Butch towards the stairs. "Come on, let's get this grand tour over with."

* * *

"This. This right here is really what you do with your day?" Butch asked.

His hair was back in its signature spikes and he'd borrowed a green washed out t-shirt from the Professor. He was slouched against the couch cushions, but Buttercup was perched on the end of her seat. Even though morning had turned into evening, she couldn't let herself relax around him.

She grabbed the TV remote. "What? You got something against _The Walking Dead_?"

"Not a fan of mindless time wasting is all."

"You mean the same way I'm not a fan of engaging with you? Then I guess I can respect that."

Butch rested his feet on the coffee table. "Too bad Ballerina. You scared away your BFF, and your sisters are nowhere to be found. Looks to me like we'll be spending a lot of time together."

She tossed the remote aside. "Don't give me a ridiculous nickname. Don't speak about my relationships," he leant towards her, reaching out, "and don't touch the remote."

He fell back into his slouch and chuckled. "Fine, fine. Guess I'll put up with this too."

Buttercup didn't want to ask, she was already in a bad mood and any prolonged conversation with Butch made her want to pluck her ears off. But still, but she was curious. "And what does that mean?"

He blew out a breath. "It means I'm playing along. I'm putting up with this joke of a hostage situation because this is exactly where I need to be. Already told you I want to do some good in Townsville; if this is the kind of crap I need to put up with then fine. I'll deal for a little longer."

Buttercup felt like her scowl would leave a permanent imprint on her face. He thought the Puffs were weak; he was just another person calling her a powerless washed out hero. And this wasn't the first time either. "You think you can leave that easily? Don't underestimate me."

He rolled his shoulders back and began stretching out his arms. "Why not Ballerina? I mean for starters, you don't even train. I'm pretty sure it's not underestimating if it's tr—"

She slammed her fist into his face.

She was so sick of people calling her weak. So sick of assholes verbalising every single fear she had. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. And she _wouldn't_ hear it from a Jojo. "You don't know _shit_."

Her hand ached. The pain seemed to blaze brighter from the point where her knuckles had crashed into his face. But she was itching to hit him again.

"What the _hell_." There was a spec of blood on his front tooth. "Super strength comes with a certain level of durability," he licked the blood away, "but that still hurt like a mother —"

"Get up and go. I dare you." He rubbed his jaw and Buttercup straightened her posture. She wouldn't win a fight, she probably wouldn't be able to stop him either. But she wanted an excuse to beat him bloody.

Butch's hand fell from his jaw. "Reign in your anger Hulk. Didn't I just say this is where I need to be? Learn to take a freaking joke."

So insults were a joke, and kicking someone when they're down was the funniest thing in the world, huh? Then she'd tell him something hilarious. "You're playing hero all by yourself Butch. What? Even your worthless brothers got sick of your attitude? That's pretty freaking sad."

He scoffed. "Please." He was already reaching for the remote, straining to see past her body. "They didn't get sick of me. I got sick of them."

"Oh?" Buttercup's skin crawled; mind games were more Blossom's style. In this moment, she almost felt like the Ice Queen's puppet. "So they're the villains and you're the hero? They're the bad guys and you're the traitor?"

His lips thinned and she knew she'd hit the mark.

"Hey Jojo, have you ever wondered what will happen if the Rowdyruffs manage to track down their traitorous brother?"

Butch glared up at her. His flippant attitude was long gone. "You're pushing me."

She leant forward. Buttercup knew she was wide open- it was stupid, it was prideful- but she wasn't Blossom. She wanted to see his reaction as close as possible. "…Brick must scare the hell out of you."

He snatched up a handful of her shirt and sprang to his feet. Buttercup's toes barely touched the ground.

She had to remind herself to breathe.


	6. Chapter 6

She could hear her heart pounding, like each beat was knocking on her ear drums. There was fear, and excitement, and anger. It gave her a sense of déjà vu, reminded her of the olden days when she was cornered in a fight – when she was forced to lash out.

She gripped Butch's hand with hers.

Well, maybe 'forced' was a strong word.

The front door swung open. Butch dropped her and she stumbled back, knocking her ankle against the coffee table. "Backing down then?" She straightened out her top.

"I'm not here to fight," he said, but his glare was saying something completely different.

The door slammed shut and Buttercup's remaining anger dimmed; the wannabe hero could wait. "Don't even think about starting on me Blossom. This guy is – whoa."

Blossom's hair was singed, with soot clinging onto every ginger strand. Her pink cold-shoulder top was now torn in several places, each rip had a charred likeness to the holes in Bubble's tattered outfit. They both had scrapes and cuts. Buttercup could tell that Blossom had taken the brunt of the attack; her sister's skin had so many red patches, that at times, she couldn't distinguish a fresh bruise from dried blood.

Buttercup took a step forward. "What happened? Why didn't you call me?"

"It's alright," Blossom looked exhausted, "it was just a difficult mission."

"'Difficult'? Look at you!" she yelled. To her right, she could hear Bubbles' breaths beginning to hitch; safe to assume she was close to tears. "You okay?"

Her sister's gaze was glued to the ground. "It's my fault. I… I wasn't paying attention. Blossom had to shield me."

Blossom placed a hand on Bubble's back. "It's fine, we locked him away and that's all that matters."

"Is he in critical condition?" Buttercup asked, "I'm pretty sure _that's_ all that matters."

Blossom nudged Bubbles towards the staircase, leading down to the Professor's lab. No doubt they were going to get patched up.

"He's not home yet," said Buttercup.

Blossom sucked in a breath. "Right. Okay. Bubbles can you call him? We need to get treated, I still need to discuss efficient training regimens, and it's clear now that we'll be needing actual battle suits…"

It stung. Her sisters were injured, and her phone hadn't rung once, all day. Did she really look incapable? Just because she'd missed a few measly missions here and there?

"You should have called," Buttercup barked. She sounded pissed; she wasn't pissed at them. "I know I don't get involved in missions and all that, but this is different. When you need back up, I'll be there."

Blossom's mumbles died down. She regarded Buttercup before her attention flickered to Butch for the first time all evening. "We were fine Buttercup."

"What is that? Sarcasm?"

Blossom clutched her arm. "I'm not in the mood to deal with this."

"Deal with what? I was offering a hand. If you'd called me I would have helped."

"No. I guarantee you could not have 'helped'." Blossom's tone was weary, but every shot was crystal clear. "As you are now, you would have been as useful as a civilian. Your skills have dulled."

"…Really." It didn't matter that Blossom was exhausted, irritable, and injured – she'd said that bull in front of a Ruff. It seemed like everyone wanted a turn to step on her today.

"'Dulled'? I don't know about that." Butch swung his feet over the armrest. "Her skills are fine, and I've got the aching jaw to prove it. Besides," he tipped his head back and pointed in the general direction of Blossom, "based on the post-apocalyptic look you've got going on, I suggest focusing on the skills that _you_ lack."

"I –" Buttercup recognised Blossom's expression; the Ice Queen was biting her tongue to keep from groaning in pain. "I'm… just not dealing with this tonight," she said, and walked into the Professor's lab with Bubbles trailing behind.

Butch grabbed the remote. "I can touch it now, right?" Buttercup remained silent. "Of course I can," he answered, already channel surfing. "I'm your knight in shining armour."

"Don't insult Blossom," but the statement fell flat even to her own ears. She tried a sentence that held more truth. "I don't need your protection. Five seconds ago you were spouting the same trash as her, so why jump in?"

"Don't get me wrong, I agree with her wholeheartedly." He shrugged. "But I'll take any chance to screw over a Red."

* * *

Buttercup pulled her feet up onto the kitchen counter. Bubbles was flitting around, and she didn't want anything to spill on her good jeans. It had been four days since her fight with Butch, and something was bothering her:

The Ruff had never hit her.

Not once, since the day they'd met, and she was certain she'd given him good reason.

Buttercup reached and grabbed the bowl of grapes off the adjacent aisle. She popped a few into her mouth. Blossom liked the red ones so Buttercup made it her mission to finish them each morning. Sourness be damned.

"You don't want waffles?" Bubbles asked, mixing the batter. She had streaks of flour on her baby blue top.

She popped another grape into her mouth. "I can hold down both."

Most of Bubble's bandages had been removed, and there was only some light scarring on her elbow. Maybe they all had a bit of super healing left in their system, after all, it was a similar situation with her bruised ankle.

"Hey," Buttercup began, she had to be tactful, "what do you think of Butch?"

Bubbles' stirring slowed. "Uh… I don't really, I mean, he's fine. He's…a Rowdyruff boy."

Buttercup snorted. That answer was a bit pathetic. "Come on, I'm not Blossom. I won't string you up if you show a little honest emotion." Bubbles went back to stirring and the silence lasted so long that Buttercup was beginning to question whether she'd spoken out loud. "I've been having some thoughts of my own," she continued, "I'm just wondering if we're on the same page."

"Okay. But I don't really know what I think," Bubbles said. "He seems different from when we were children. It's like he's bad, but… not really."

Buttercup nodded. "Okay. Yeah." If she hadn't felt the same, that sentence wouldn't have made much sense. "Guess we're thinking alike then."

Bubbles reached for the waffle iron in an overhead cupboard. She tiptoed and stretched and still only the tips of her fingers brushed it.

"Need a hand?" Buttercup asked, already walking along the kitchen counter. She hopped over the stove and grabbed the waffle iron. "Here."

"Thanks," said Bubbles.

"We cook there Buttercup." Blossom strode into the kitchen, her hair slicked into a tight ponytail. She looked as pristine as ever; she obviously didn't intend to actually touch anything in here. "If you need something, use a chair to reach for it."

"Why is this even an issue? You certainly don't cook in here," she jumped off the counter. "Anyway, I've got to go." It was too early to deal with the pink puff.

She walked into the living room just as a knock sounded on the front door. "I've got it," she called.

But it didn't even sound like the girls were listening. She could hear Blossom interrogating Bubbles: something about grocery shopping and red grapes. By the time Buttercup pulled the front door open, she was thoroughly pleased with herself.

"Buttercup. Weird seeing you here."

It was Mitch. She hadn't seen him since their almost-fight a few days back. She'd clearly felt tension between them, but it seemed like he was ignoring it now. "I live here." She wrestled her lips into a smile. "What? Does Bubble's outshine me now?"

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "It's… 7:30. In the morning. Aren't you nocturnal?" he teased.

"Huge exaggeration." If Mitch was going to act like nothing had happened, then so could she. "So, are you here to see Bubbles?"

"No, just dropping this off." He held up a blue jean jacket. "She left it at my place."

"Oh. Cool." It had taken Mitch years before he'd invited Buttercup to his trailer. "You and Bubbles… pretty serious there. I mean, your place?" She forced a laugh.

Mitch leant in slightly, inspecting her expression. "Wow. You sound painfully uncomfortable."

"I'm not. You said you wanted to speak about this lovey-dovey crap, right?" Buttercup shut her eyes for a second. Even when she was being genuine, it was her anger that came across. "I said you could tell me this kind of stuff, didn't I?"

Mitch rocked back on his heels. "Yeah. Okay then." He took a second, and then, "I don't know about 'serious', but we've been going out every day." He shrugged. "I've liked Bubbles for a long time."

"How long?"

He shook his head. "Long."

That was irritating. The way he said that word—like he'd been pining for someone who was out of his league. Like he couldn't quite see himself measuring up to Bubbles. But Buttercup had seen her sister suffer a low GPA, an attack of aggressive acne, and months in public with orthodontic headgear. "You know she didn't stop eating crayons until she was 11, right?"

Mitch raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just saying – she's normal. And you're…" Good enough. But she couldn't say that, not if she wanted to keep those grapes down. "You're normal too. So there you go, a match made in heaven."

He snorted. "Thanks."

She grabbed the jacket off him and flashed a smile. "Something about that didn't sound genuine."

He shook his head and turned to leave. "Anyway, I need to get going."

"Hang on a sec. I've been cooped up in this house for way too long. Want to hang out?" She said, already stepping past the threshold. "I'm thinking –"

"Sorry, I really can't make it today. I have a bunch of errands to run; my place is practically falling apart."

She didn't even have to ask who was occupying his evenings. "We haven't hung out in ages. But, fine, whatever."

He ran a hand over his buzz cut. "Next time, yeah?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Later." She shut the door before he even turned away.

* * *

 **Look forward to an action packed chapter 7**


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning: Brutal battle ahead.**

* * *

Buttercup stabbed at her ice cream; even on her day out, Butch was glued to her side. Bubbles and Blossom had volunteered to field test the Professor's latest battle suits, so here she was, babysitting Butch on an otherwise decent afternoon.

Butch leant back in his chair, and placed his heels on the edge of the table. She was glad they were the only two on the outdoor patio. "I realise you've been out of town for some years, but I'm pretty sure that basic manners apply everywhere," she snapped.

"I'm just soaking in the sunshine Ballerina." He made an idiotic hand motion, like he was wafting the rays toward himself. "Why so tense? Afraid of being seen with a Rowdyruff?"

"I just don't want to get kicked out of the only ice cream parlour in Townsville." She took a peek at his outfit. He was wearing a black shirt and jeans- they'd probably get kicked out just for darkening the atmosphere.

He glanced around while rocking in his chair. "I give it six months. This place is going _under_ ," he declared.

Buttercup grit her teeth. She was getting a headache.

He stopped rocking and rested an elbow on the table. He flashed Buttercup a grin. "Now that's an interesting expression."

"Yeah? It means 'keep shut'." She flicked her ice cream aside. "Look, nobody cares who you are or what you're doing here." The people of Townsville walked side-by-side with super heroes on a daily basis; they were desensitized to both the famous and infamous alike. "The Rowdyruffs are ancient. It's been six years; Townsville's seen worse."

His grin grew.

It felt like he was mocking her. "You're generic." She added. "There's nothing special about you to even catch anyone's eye."

He raised an eyebrow. "But I caught _your_ attention just fine."

He was definitely mocking her. "Yeah. Meditating in the middle of a storm will do that." And it was difficult to glance past someone who'd once smacked you with a support beam.

Buttercup pushed her chair back and tossed some change onto the table. She'd lost her appetite. She should have known that an outing with Butch would be a waste of her time.

Buttercup stood and stuffed her hands into her pockets; she'd worn her good jeans for _this_? At least with Mitch in tow, she wouldn't have felt so overdressed in her green patterned tank top. The guy was always looking like he'd spent an extra hour in front of the mirror, even though his clothes were from charity stores. Huh, she guessed that was something Mitch and Bubbles had in common; an enviable affinity for fashion.

She walked a few miles but paused when she no longer heard footsteps. "What are you doing?" She called, turning around.

Butch was standing at the mouth of an alley. She was too far to see what he was staring at, but the sun cast shadows across the sidewalk. She counted four, no, five figures. She walked towards Butch. "Whatever you're thinking, forget it," she muttered. "Not our business."

But what she meant was, not _her_ business. Not her fight. Not her loss. Buttercup couldn't save anyone; she couldn't be a hero anymore. She grabbed Butch's elbow.

He pulled his arm away. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"…Lets go already," but she was having difficulty hearing her own words. Her pulse was pounding like in the seconds before a fight, building towards a crescendo and muting everything out until she felt her head would explode. She didn't want this- she wasn't ready to lose a fight she would have once won.

"A Powerpuff?" came a male voice, "you're freaking kidding me."

It was the Ganggreen gang.

Buttercup peered into the alley. She stumbled back just as foot swung where her head had been.

"And it's the green one. You seem spunkier than the rumours suggest Buttercup." It was Ace. His shaggy hair was splayed around his face, locked into thick greasy tangles that sat on his shoulders. His lanky 7'9 frame was somewhat unnerving now that Buttercup wasn't able to reach his height— staring up was putting her stance off balance. She wouldn't be able to react fast enough.

Ace pulled off his shades. He had sunken, bloodshot eyes that darted between her and Butch. "Not going to introduce me Buttercup?" He grinned and used his shades as a pointer. "This your man? He know what he's gotten himself into?" He leant closer, his breath warming her cheek. Buttercup's skin crawled. "We have an unspoken rule, right? You and me? You don't bother us, and we don't come for you."

Buttercup willed herself to stand still. She made a show of peering behind the enormous presence that was Ace. At the back of the alley were his ring of rent-a thugs and what looked like a curly haired girl. Ginger locks and a face full of dirt hid her identity, but she was bound and slung over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes— it screamed hostage situation. The Ganggreen Gang weren't creative enough for much else.

"Sounds like you've become cocky since I've been off the scene Ace." She took a step back and poised on the balls of her feet. "You come for me and I'll break your jaw. That's the only 'agreement' we have." She hoped her display of confidence alone would scare them into good behaviour.

"Oh. That's a shame." Ace clicked his fingers and his rent-a-thugs vaulted over the wall at the back of the alley- ginger girl in tow.

Buttercup shot forward and Ace's nails dug into her shoulder. He flung her back and she stumbled into a hot dog cart. His nails left bloody welts on her shoulder.

"You know, for a while there it looked like you had this whole thing sorted Ballerina." Butch said, "I was worried I wouldn't get some action."

"Go after the girl!" she yelled.

"I don't know… It seems like a five second fight to me."

"Quit messing around Mr. Aspiring hero." She spat.

His grin wavered as he glanced between her and Ace. "Alright then," he said and ran towards the end of the alley, vaulting the wall with ease. For all she knew he wasn't even going to chase them. He could use the opportunity to escape, to commit a crime, to –

She lurched to the side as Ace's foot smacked the hot dog cart. This wasn't her place. She didn't have powers; there was nothing she could do.

Buttercup bounced forward, trying to get a hit in, but Ace had long limbs. His fist reached her before she could punch. His foot hit her before she could kick.

The funny thing was, even if Butch was in her place, she wouldn't feel capable of handling the gang of rent-a-thugs. She'd never felt more weak.

Ace slammed a fist into Buttercup's stomach and she stumbled back, her breath knocked out of her. "Why you'd come here when you have no powers...?" He cracked his elbow against Buttercup's temple. " _This_ is what a _fair_ fight is like, yeah Puff? You get it now? You're nothing special."

Buttercup was barely standing. The floor spun in front of her eyes and she felt something wet run down her forehead. A whimper escaped from her lips. How was she 'the toughest fighter'? Who came up with that stupid label? …Why? Her vision began to darken. Ah, right. It was because she could take hits. It was because she always hit back.

But she hadn't hit Ace.

Buttercup sucked her thumb between her teeth and bit until she tasted blood. She hadn't hit Ace.

"I promised you a broken jaw," she rasped, stepping forward. His fist skimmed her cheek. Before Ace could wind his arm back, Buttercup snapped her knee up, hitting him full in the gut. He cried out, she was so close that flecks of saliva splashed onto her shoulder. She clutched his head and swung her knee up again.

He absorbed the hit with the palm of his hands. "Blasted Powerpuff!"

Buttercup tried a high kick but he blocked it and lashed out, clawing at her eyes. She screamed, and swore, and stumbled. Colour exploded behind her eyelids and she wailed when the pain only focused with time. Buttercup grit her teeth and held back a sob. The bastard had scratched her with the same gnarled nails he probably used to pick his teeth clean.

She heard steps approaching, but couldn't open her eyes. She staggered backwards.

"Too slow," Ace sang. "I'm going to pay you back for _every single punch_ Puff."

A fist struck her face, and Buttercup sputtered, her head snapping sideways. Another smacked her nose and the force flung her to the floor. Ace approached and snatched up a handful of her hair.

"Your sisters should find a new profession." He swept a finger along her neck and over the freshly formed bruises on her cheeks. "Your little group won't be the same with only two."

"Drop dead," she slurred.

Her scalp was stinging, and it felt like her hair was going to rip from its roots. She scratched at his hand, but his grip didn't loosen. _Crap_. She knew she couldn't have won this. She knew she wasn't capable. Why had she tried?

Ace's hand began to wrap around her throat. It was tightening – he was going to cut off her air, he was going to watch her flail around, and scratch at his hand, and dangle, until she just stopped moving altogether. He was going to – to –

Her family was going to find her.

This wasn't a fight she could lose.

Buttercup forced her body to calm, even as her mind flailed. Slowly, she reduced her movements, until she hung from his arm like a rag doll. But it wasn't working, he didn't think she was dead, he wasn't letting go, he was being too thorough – and then his grip loosened.

Buttercup grabbed his neck and latched her feet around his midriff. With a hoarse cry she slammed her forehead into his face.

Ace yelled and grabbed his bloody nose. Buttercup dropped to the ground, pulling his head down. She shot her knee up, again, and again, and again, until she heard a satisfying crunch. Ace fell to his knees spitting up blood.

Buttercup wasn't done.

"I owe you a broken jaw." Her nose was wrecked, her body was bruised, and she felt like she was about to throw up – but it was the best feeling in the world. Buttercup swung her foot back, "a present from the powerless Puffs."

"W-wait. Please," he spluttered through bloody lips. "Come on, it's over. Y-you win."

Buttercup froze. She just had to subdue him; not send him to prison in pieces…she really was out of practice. "Yeah… right, okay." Buttercup searched for her phone. "Looks like I'm tossing you behind bars once again Ace."

Buttercup was patting herself on her back when a hand grabbed her ankle. She looked down and Ace yanked.

She screamed and her head smacked the edge of the sidewalk. The darkness came quickly this time, threatening to swallow her consciousness. She saw Ace crawl away and heard someone yell her name. It sounded like Butch. But that was crazy, he'd never called her 'Buttercup'.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed it.**


	8. Chapter 8

The Professor was a miracle worker. He'd been patching up the girls since they were old enough to knock a grown man's teeth out – butterfly band aids on fists and stitches on foreheads - Bubbles and Blossom had nothing but praise for him. But as soon as Buttercup needed her nose fixed, it was 'Sorry, it might not set straight. You know this isn't my area of expertise."

Buttercup leant close to the mirror. The Professor had placed a puffy square bandage on her nose after he'd pushed it into place – but it wasn't hiding anything. The skin peeking out was tinged black, fading into a deep purple around her eye sockets.

Just let Bubbles try and complain about 'dark circles' in front of her.

Buttercup poked at a red bump on her forehead and flinched. Every muscle in her body ached with the same fierceness. Even her neck was mottled in varying shades of red.

She gripped the edge of the sink.

How was she supposed to face anyone with this much damage? She'd fought Ace, not one of Mojo's robots. And after all _this_ , she'd lost too. Buttercup scoffed. The fight had actually gone just as she'd predicted – just as everyone had predicted at one point or another – Blossom, Bubbles, even Butch.

She'd noticed him pause at the alley; he didn't want to leave her alone with Ace. Like he was her bodyguard. Like he was her _real_ knight in shining armour. As if she needed any of that _crap_.

"Damn it!" Buttercup cried. She swiped at a tear that threatened to slip down her cheek. She was just as weak as she'd feared.

And now everyone knew it too.

There was a knock at her door. "What?" Buttercup rasped.

"Hi," Bubbles called. "… um, the Professor said you were awake. He said he was done with your medical treatment."

She went silent and Buttercup let it hang between them. It wasn't a question. And she didn't particularly want to speak.

"So I was hoping we could talk? Because, I mean, I heard what happened yesterday with the Ganggreen gang. Are you okay?"

Buttercup trudged out of her bathroom and crawled into bed. She hoped her door was locked. "Don't you have breakfast to make or something?"

"Yes, but –"

"Then go." There were no footsteps. "Bubbles. Please just –" Her throat was starting to close up, she could feel a sob building, suffocating her words. Buttercup smothered her face with a pillow.

"Okay, I'm leaving," Bubbles said. "But…you should know that everything's okay. You and Butch saved Princess Morbucks; you're heroes. Even Blossom thinks so."

Buttercup dragged the pillow off her face. "Just _leave_ ," she yelled, voice breaking. The day she wanted a compliment from Blossom would be the day she'd lost her freaking mind.

"Okay," Bubbles muttered. Her footsteps vanished as quickly as they'd come.

Buttercup shut her eyes. She was a hero, huh? What had she done that was so heroic? She'd opted to abandon Princess. She'd wanted to avoid Ace. And when she'd stepped up, she was slammed right back down.

She felt like a failure in every role she played; hero, sister, friend.

A low buzz caught her attention and Buttercup reached for her phone. It was a text from Mitch: _I have_ _the entire day free. Want to do something?_

She tossed her phone aside. A little late for that. If he'd been around yesterday instead of Butch, none of this would have happened. Buttercup flung the duvet over her head and welcomed sleep when it finally, finally came.

* * *

 **Sorry for the wait and the unusually short chapter. As always, thanks for the reviews!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for the reviews, enjoy**

* * *

She wasn't sure what colour her ceiling was. It had always been an unremarkable beige. But tonight it flickered from beige to blue to black.

She lay still, just staring up. She didn't have any other option as her limbs were too heavy to lift. From the ceiling emerged a body, every appendage as dark as the hue it had materialised from, but gradually, the colours began to change.

It was male. It had green eyes and black hair. It was Butch Jojo.

He dropped down to her bed and crouched over her. When she couldn't find the strength to shove him away, she knew it was a dream.

He smirked and then leant closer. With their lips almost touching, Buttercup tore her hands free of their invisible restraints and pushed Butch away. But when she looked again, his crown of black hair had vanished and his green eyes were no longer exploring her figure.

Now Mitch was crouching over her— and his expression revealed more than she wanted to see.

Buttercup's eyes snapped open. She sucked in a breath and stared at the very solid, very plain ceiling above her. Buttercup exhaled and peeled off her duvet. "…As if," she muttered.

Her body was throbbing; it felt like the pain had spread and amplified during her nap. Buttercup glanced at her phone on the bedside table. It was early evening- that explained the new flashes of pain. She'd slept the entire day away.

She quickly skimmed through her messages. Mitch had sent several texts, all asking about her battle with Ace. She placed her phone down. There wasn't much to tell, or rather, there wasn't much she wanted to tell.

The bottom line would be that she'd lost.

Buttercup trudged towards her door, hoping for an empty house and a full kitchen. She pulled the handle and her steps faltered; Mitch was sitting crossed legged against the banister. "How long have you been outside my door?"

He examined her, it was a quick once over, but in those seconds of silence Buttercup raised her guard. She knew what he was seeing. She knew he wanted to comment.

"You didn't answer my texts," was all he said before rummaging through a carrier bag at his side. He tossed her a sandwich. "Bubbles said you hadn't left your room all day."

"Uh, yeah. I didn't feel like talking," she sank to the floor opposite him. "Thanks," she said, raising her sandwich. Buttercup ripped the package open and took a bite; tuna and sweetcorn. She was ninety per cent sure this thing wasn't originally meant for her.

When she glanced at Mitch, he was rolling a bottle of water under his hand. "So what happened?"

"What? Bubbles didn't tell you that too?"

"It looks worse than she described." His focus seemed to shift lower, towards her neck. He leant forward to get a better look and lifted her chin with his finger. "Whoa…did you really see a doctor?"

She could feel his breath on her skin, it was warm, and it tickled, just like in her dream when he'd watched her with all that… emotion. She couldn't get his expression out of her mind. It was weirding her out.

Buttercup jerked out of his grip and knocked her head against the wall. "Crap, Mitch. Give me space!" His touch had never bothered her before. He did it all the time… probably. Buttercup couldn't remember. Had he always been this handsy? "I'm a Powerpuff; injuries come with the territory. That doesn't mean I need you clinging onto me. Just…go and coddle Bubbles or something, will you?"

Mitch rocked back. "I'm only looking out for you."

"Well that's new." She placed her sandwich down; she'd lost her appetite. "This entire week, it's felt like you couldn't get away from me fast enough." Buttercup didn't know why she was bringing this up now, on a day that was already shaping out to be one of her worst.

Mitch leant against the banister. "Can you really blame me? You say whatever you want, whenever you want."

"What's your point?" She'd been that way through sixteen years of friendship.

"You can be insensitive." His voice took on an edge, but his expression remained at 'mildly interested'. "It's something that's been difficult to ignore."

Buttercup could pinpoint the exact moment she'd suddenly become too 'insensitive' for his tastes. "So you and Bubbles talk about me?"

"With the same level of interest we'd use to discuss the weather Buttercup; this has nothing to do with her."

Buttercup scowled; there was an insult in there somewhere.

Mitch ran a hand over his head. "Sorry." He blew out a breath. "You just don't act like you care, is what I'm trying to say. I always need to decipher your words."

"So what you're saying is that you want me to be more open with my feelings? Like Bubbles."

"No, I'm trying –"

"To compare." Buttercup launched to her feet and every muscle condemned the action.

"Do you have some kind of complex?" Mitch was on his feet too. He'd raised an eyebrow, but not his voice. It annoyed her that he was never _truly_ angry- like he was an adult in a child's world. "You're the one comparing yourself Buttercup. First Blossom and now Bubbles. That's why you can't even see your own worth."

"You're preaching," she snapped.

"I am," he nudged her shoulder. "Look, you saved someone – there isn't a more heroic act than that. You kicked ass out there, which makes you better than you were a few days ago. That's all that matters."

Buttercup was at a loss for words.

For a second she hadn't felt the weight of everyone's judgements, she hadn't heard the sound of her own self-deprecation, she hadn't even felt like a failure. Her eyes were fixated on her own development; a journey which had begun with a ganggreen battle, and continued with the encouraging words of Mitch, and…yeah, Bubbles.

For the first time in months, she felt like she could fight. And it occurred to her that even Butch, in some tiny way of course, had helped her regain her confidence.

"So… too much preaching?" Mitch asked into the silence.

Buttercup was tearing up. It'd been so long since she'd felt like she could accomplish even half of her previous achievements. But now it felt possible. She'd saved a life and fought a battle and done her best and beat the odds and she was _better than yesterday_.

Buttercup flung her arms around Mitch.

"What –?" He stumbled back until he bumped against the banister. He paused for only a second before wrapping his arms around her. Even though they'd never hugged, and probably never would again, he acted like it was completely natural.

And so Buttercup hugged him, even after the moment passed and joy cooled into awkwardness.

Mitch put his arms down. "…You're hanging on because I called you 'insensitive' aren't you?"

She never wanted to become Bubble's clone, but she was willing to think of others before she spoke. "Duh."


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry for the wait!**

* * *

"It's getting late," Mitch said. He'd settled into his spot against the banister with Buttercup sitting opposite.

"Yeah." It'd been a while since Mitch had stepped into her house for more than five seconds. Buttercup had always assumed that he was uncomfortable around the huge presence that was Blossom Utonium, but now she realised it was Bubbles he'd been uncomfortable around, for an entirely different reason. "So what are your plans for tonight? Another date?"

"Nothing's planned. Should we do something instead?"

"Like what? Moving isn't part of my skill set right now."

Mitch gave a slow nod. "Guess I'm completely free." He climbed to his feet. "Which means I'm heading home."

Buttercup rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She heard the creak of door hinges and tipped her head towards the source. Bubbles was at the end of the hallway, shuffling towards them in a long baggy shirt.

Buttercup shut her eyes again. "Impressive. Do you have some kind of boyfriend radar?"

When there was no response, Buttercup opened her eyes. Bubbles was crouched inches away with an expression twisted in concern. "Did the Professor really treat you? Maybe you should see him again? I mean, I only caught a glimpse, but it didn't look this bad in the morning."

Buttercup shuffled sideways and staggered to her feet. Both Mitch and Bubbles clearly had deep rooted issues with personal space. "Yeah, he's worked his magic. I'm fine now, so there's really no need to wake the entire house." She'd accepted her loss to Ace, her wounds were no longer an epic mark of failure. But they were still horrible—she didn't plan to display her wounds and all their varied, nauseating colours.

"Oh… right. Okay." Bubbles stood up.

"Come on," Mitch said, "she's only looking out for you." He peered at Bubbles, and she gave him a small smile.

It was the first time Buttercup had seen them interact, and if they hadn't made such a huge deal out of their relationship, she would have never guessed they were together.

"You're up late," Mitch said, examining Bubbles. "Did you know I was here?" He pushed off the banister. "Do you need to talk?"

"No, no, I couldn't sleep and I heard your voice, so…" She ran a hand through her hair, completely dislodging the band tying her ponytail. "But you two are busy. I think I'll just go over here–" Her voice fizzled out and she took a step forward before swiftly doubling back.

It was like she didn't fully understand the meaning of her own words; like Mitch's presence alone was short-circuiting her brain. "So when you two hang out for hours on end, is Bubbles conscious? Or has she fainted by then?"

Bubbles' face burned red.

"What the hell Buttercup." Mitch muttered.

"It was a joke." If she'd said that about anyone else, he would have grinned.

Bubbles was blinking rapidly, and there was a slight sheen to her eyes. "D—don't worry. Don't argue, it was funny!"

"…Yeah?" Buttercup said.

Bubbles nodded. "But I'm a bit tired now. So… good night." She spun around and disappeared into her room.

"Ten seconds ago you decided to be a bit more sensitive – so maybe think before you speak?" Mitch sounded weary; like an adult who'd chastised a child several times over the same issue.

It was irritating, and his lectures were getting old. "I did. And I _thought_ it was funny." She hadn't been cruel on purpose, and she didn't particularly want to censor herself just because Bubbles was made of glass. "Even Bubbles said it was funny."

Mitch snorted. "I'm beginning to think that I know her better than you do."

Buttercup scowled and trudged downstairs; it was a slow stomp, but she made it. She wanted to get away from Mitch before the kernel of guilt in her stomach sprouted into full blown regret.

She slumped onto the couch, turned on the TV, and just stared at the muted screen. It wasn't her fault. Bubbles was just too… Bubbles. The only thing they had in common was Mitch, and it was likely to stay that way. They just didn't get each other.

A few minutes passed and Buttercup heard footsteps approach. She turned around.

He put his hands up in surrender. "I'm not saying anything."

"Okay." Buttercup went back to staring at the TV.

"Except, that Bubbles admires you. If you hangout for more than three seconds, maybe you'll feel the same about her."

"I don't have anything against Bubbles," was all Buttercup said.

"I know. But you don't really respect her either."

Buttercup remained silent.

"Okay," Mitch said. She could practically _see_ his slow nod. "I'm heading home. Rest up."

She intended to. It wasn't long before she slipped into a dreamless sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

_'The Second Time Around' Recap_ : After Buttercup's battle with Ace, she was healing faster than an average human, but still sustained a lot of damage- the hardest blow was to her confidence. Enter Mitch. He convinced her to try and see herself in a positive light. She was better than she was yesterday, that was all that mattered. Buttercup took on his advice and made a decision to become an active hero once again.

When the conversation between Buttercup and Mitch had calmed down, Bubbles entered the scene, and Buttercup made a careless comment that humiliated her sister. This pushed the girls further apart and Mitch advised Buttercup to get to know Bubbles so that respect could grow.

Buttercup dismissed this and Mitch left while she fell asleep on the couch, annoyed that both Bubbles and Mitch just didn't understand her.

* * *

Buttercup stared at the ceiling, blinking only when her eyes began to sting. She'd been slipping in and out of consciousness since four in the morning. And she felt like crap – inside and out. What had Mitch said last night? 'Rest up'?

He'd definitely jinxed her.

With a groan Buttercup hauled her body off the couch. She stumbled back when the front door swung open and swore as her heel smacked the coffee table.

A long, drawn out whistle caught her attention. "Who knew you could rock every colour?"

Ugh. Butch was obviously talking about her bruises, which from a quick glance at her arm, had every hue on the freaking rainbow: from dark purple to puke green.

Butch, on the other hand, looked fine. The only evidence of a struggle was a faint pink mark on his neck. It was a fine line that tapered off at each end, and Buttercup wondered exactly how deep the cut had been. But that wound wasn't the only new edition.

He was decked out in a grey top with thriller-esque slashes and a pair of neat black jeans stitched with a green hem line – obviously Bubble's handiwork.

"No reply? Don't tell me Ace's little beating humbled you," Butch said. "Are you just going to stare now?"

She scowled. "Well it's the first time I've seen you enter a place through a door instead of a wall— it surprised me." She replied, referring back to the days she could punch him through a concrete building.

He'd entered her house like he owned the place. Like he was _allowed_ to come and go as he pleased. It didn't make sense. And then her sisters entered.

Blossom and Bubbles were dressed neatly in casual formal wear. Their outfits made Buttercup feel like she'd barged into a ballroom gala with her slasher Halloween costume; she was in the same beat up, tattered outfit she'd worn two days ago in her fight with Ace. "Was there a party I didn't know about? You'll have to excuse my outfit. I've been really busy these days with unconsciousness," she directed her comment at Blossom.

The red head hadn't visited her once. Instead, she'd sent Bubbles to convey her sympathy – like their rooms weren't a meter apart.

Blossom fixed her eyes on Buttercup. "You're healing well, that's good." She pulled off her blazer and folded it over her arm. "Listen Buttercup, there's been a lot of media attention since the fight with the Ganggreen gang. Everyone needs to know who saved Princess Morbucks."

She shrugged. "Just tell them it was the Puffs."

She glanced at Bubbles who was clothed in a dark blue collared dress. It was nice; no frills, roomy enough to run in. Buttercup was about to wonder aloud whether Blossom had suggested the outfit, but Bubbles hadn't looked her way once.

Which was fine by her. Neither of them would be missing out on much conversation anyway.

She re-focused on Blossom. "So that's where you guys have been? Speaking to the press?" Why take Butch along?

"Yes. Townsville Bulletin has been researching their story for the past few days. Yesterday they found an eye witness who recognised Butch at the scene." Blossom blew out a breath. "So you see, we couldn't just tell them it was a Powerpuff effort."

Buttercup's breath lodged in her throat. It couldn't get out that they were hiding – _holding_ a Rowdyruff. "Well what _did_ you tell them? You fixed this right?"

"Of course I did. They wanted to run the story tomorrow," Blossom tilted her chin up, "so we offered them a better one."

"Okay. Good. Great. " Buttercup rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She was suddenly feeling wired. "So that's sorted," she mumbled.

She needed a shower, had to get a run in too, and then maybe speak to Butch…

Sometime during the conversation he'd vanished. Probably crawled back into his basement lair to sulk about the press' suggestion that he was part of the Puffs. She couldn't blame him. 'Butch Jojo; the fourth Puff'- it made her skin crawl too.

Or maybe that was just Blossom's stare. Those pink eyes were contemplative yet firm. "You haven't done a single interview since you lost your powers. So they want you on for the nightly news."

Buttercup paused. She wasn't quite understanding… "No," she spat. "I'm not going to be dissected in front of a freaking camera. You don't get to decide that for me." Journalists never asked simple questions. It was always something personal, painful. They'd try to crack her open.

"You need to understand Buttercup, they couldn't run that piece." She glanced at Bubbles. "We're holding a _former_ criminal without the Mayor's consent or knowledge. Even if we're not exposed for… bending the law a little, the people of Townsville will lose all trust in us. Think about it – there's a possible threat right under their noses, and we're keeping it quiet."

" _You_ made that call Blossom. You put us in this situation! Instead of sending Butch away, you wanted to be clever. You wanted to use him. We can protect Townsville on our own," she ground out. "I was against this craziness from the start, but _I'm_ the one paying for your shitty choices!"

Blossom's tone took on an edge. "You struggled against Ace – just one member of the Ganggreen gang. They're nothing compared to, let's say, Medusa, Mojo Jojo, _Him_. The choice I made concerning Butch, is the same as saving our lives. I'm doing my part to protect our family. Why are you finding it difficult to do the same?"

"Because I didn't ask for any of this!" She yelled, slamming her palm against the coffee table. It stung, it really did. But more than anything she wished it was Blossom she'd just hit. "If you're so damn eager to protect family, why don't you start by saving me from certain embarrassment?"

She hadn't asked for Blossom's 'protection', she hadn't even wanted to execute the plan, but _she_ was the one who was going to be exposed. Just so no one would discover their lies – _Blossom's_ lies.

Blossom's brow furrowed, ever so slightly, before smoothing out. "No one handles vulnerability well Buttercup, but we all have to encounter it. You'll be in and out of the station within a few hours." She paused. "They'll air tomorrow at 7pm, you'll need to be there by 5."

Buttercup was pissed; she knew there wasn't a way out of this. Thanks to Blossom, Townsville Bulletin would only take her.

"It'll be fi –"

"Save it." She strode upstairs, ignoring both sisters.

* * *

The water was scalding. Each drop stung the further it slid down her body; meeting a bruise or just searing sensitive skin. Still, she stood in the shower for 10 minutes more. Maybe she could wash away the moment she'd fought Ace. Or maybe she'd get lucky and drown standing up.

She could visualize the cameras, the lights, and the crowd of staff members. She'd done it all before. Back when she was an active hero with powers and a freaking fan base. But this time, it'd be as if she was on trial; explaining her absence; explaining her lack of action. It was humiliating. She didn't want to do that, and even if she did, it wasn't like anyone would understand.

She was Buttercup Utonium. She wasn't expected to feel insecure.

Townsville had loved her as one of three Powerpuffs. All her interviews had been as part of the group, so it's not like people really knew her. And she'd liked it that way. After all, the people closest to her didn't seem too fond— Blossom couldn't stand her, and Bubbles couldn't understand her – so Buttercup didn't expect Townsville to fall head over heels.

She wasn't going to open up and invite criticism. No one was going to tear her down when she'd just begun to accept herself.

Buttercup scrubbed her face with the palms of her hands until the sting became unbearable. It was decided. She'd keep her answers short and vague. She'd protect _herself_.

Buttercup blew out a breath and turned the faucet off. She stepped out feeling lighter. After a hot shower, for just a few seconds, nothing really seemed as bad. She threw on a black vest top and sweatpants, and headed down to the lab.

As her slippers hit the last step, Butch's movements slowed, but didn't stop. He was performing some type of shadow kickboxing routine. Dodging an enemy that only he could see. Punching an opponent only he could hit.

She'd like to say it was inspiring. That Butch had a certain finesse and purpose to his movements. But he didn't. All Buttercup saw was power and…rage. What did _he_ have to be mad about?

It irritated her that someone like him had been the deciding factor in her fight with Ace. Without that super strength, Butch would be worse off than her. Still…

Butch cursed as his arm locked. It was clearly an overextended swing. " _What_?" He rasped.

She'd originally come to ask for a favour, she needed someone with powers as a sparring partner, but that tone made it bitter on her tongue. "Did you hear me speak?" she shot back.

He swiped at his sweaty forehead with an arm. When that didn't help, he pulled his shirt up as a makeshift towel. "You didn't need to say a word. You're standing in my field of vision – and I don't remember calling for an eyesore."

Buttercup blanched. "The hell did you just say?"

"You're an eyesore." When he lowered the shirt, his expression wavered between pissed and irritated. As if he wasn't quite sure if his anger was justified. "I heard the yelling. You're not doing the interview, right? So I guess your threats weren't empty." He gripped the edge of the table top, and the metal dented beneath his fingertips. "Brick's going to be here as soon as that story goes online."

"Get your facts straight. I'm doing the damn interview."

Butch's fingers stilled. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Guess I read you wrong."

She hadn't actually thought of the consequences Butch would face if he was exposed. In fact, she still wasn't clear on what those were. But now it looked as if she'd done him a huge favour.

Which meant she could gain something in return. "Apologies don't mean much when I'm putting myself out there." She paused. Maybe there was something better she could receive. Something other than just a sparring partner. If Blossom were here, she'd…she'd ask for information. "I want to know why I'm sticking my neck out for you. Why are you running from Brick?"

"Because he's chasing me," Butch said with a raised eyebrow.

Buttercup shot him an irritated look; this was why she disliked initiating conversations. Butch was always playing around. "Why is he chasing you, smartass?"

"Well," Butch hauled himself onto the lab counter. He spent so long shifting around that Buttercup suspected he was taking time to compose his emotions, rather than find a comfortable spot. "It's Brick. The guy has abandonment issues."

Buttercup fought the urge to roll her eyes. Would she have to drag each and every sentence out of him? "What the heck does that mean exactly?"

"Means he hates it when people leave. Means no one's _allowed_ to leave." Butch spoke with a bored tone, but his entire posture was rigid. "He acted like he was some kind of big-time crime boss. He used me and Boomer however the hell he wanted, and was always saying the only way we'd leave is if he dragged out our bodies himself."

Buttercup was at a loss for words. She'd never heard of anyone so… messed up. It was like they weren't even related.

"That's pretty dark," Buttercup muttered. She wasn't good at comforting words. "How'd you get away?"

Butch leant back and shut his eyes. "I can be stealthy when I need to."

Buttercup let the silence pool around them.

She wondered what had happened to Boomer, and what power Brick possessed. But she didn't ask any more questions because Butch was trembling. Maybe he didn't notice himself, or maybe that's why he'd shut his eyes- he couldn't face her at the moment.

"Train with me. Your technique sucks, so I'll whip you into shape." It seemed like Butch was using the girls as much as they were using him. Both sides were human shields; Blossom wanted Butch to fight against difficult villains until the Puff's abilities improved, and Butch needed the Puffs as a smoke screen against Brick.

Now it made sense – why Butch backed down whenever Buttercup jumped up. He couldn't afford to lose them. What he didn't understand was that they couldn't afford to lose him either. Well, according to Blossom.

"Whip me?" Butch said with a snort. "Slow down there, we're not even on a first name basis Ballerina," his voice was weak, but his trembling had stopped. It was clear that he was trying to change the topic, but the joke only made Buttercup want to smack him upside the head.

"Look, are you in or what?" Buttercup snapped. It'd do her good to get some sparring in with a powered opponent. It was the entire reason she'd even come down to meet him.

"Sure, sure." He jumped off the table and pulled his vest off, heading towards the lab shower. "You can leave any second now."

"I don't need you to tell me that." She spun around and headed upstairs. The information she'd gained was really something she should share with the girls, but for whatever reason, she liked the fact that she knew more about Butch than anyone else.


	12. Chapter 12

Her wardrobe was limited. It ranged from comfortable, to comfortable-with-some-colour. Buttercup was almost ready to give up and borrow an outfit from Bubbles. It was late afternoon and she still hadn't found anything that fit Blossom's idea of a 'striking' yet 'formal' outfit she could wear for tomorrow's evening interview.

There was a knock at the door.

"It's open," Buttercup called. The door swung inwards, slowly, and Buttercup had to crane her neck to see who was there. "Why are you standing at the threshold like some horror movie murderer?"

Bubbles shrugged. "Sorry. I just didn't want to disturb you." She took a step inside. "Uh, Blossom said you could use some help?"

"Oh, yeah. With makeup, hair… basic colour co-ordination." Buttercup paused and gave Bubbles a glance. "But you don't have to hang around here just because Blossom ordered it. She's not an actual queen – despite her delusions," Buttercup muttered. Blossom's controlling nature was something she'd been glad to be rid of during her break from missions.

Bubbles gave a small smile. "I'm fine. I like fashion and," she waved her arms around, "everything else," she finished lamely. Her arms hung limp at her side as she glanced around the room.

"Right, right." Was this atmosphere because of the tiny comment she'd made last night? It was a joke; hardly worth dwelling on. Bubbles had always been too sensitive for her own good.

Buttercup blew out a breath, then snatched up her leather jacket, keys, and phone. "Get the Professor, we need a ride to the mall. More clothes, more make up," more people; less awkward silences, she added mentally. "You can help me pick some things out there."

* * *

Watching Bubbles in the mall was a surreal experience. She flitted from shop to shop, digging through clearance bins and picking out items that all had _something_ wrong with them. Buttercup assumed this was her sister's way of being passive aggressive. Maybe Bubbles was going to dress her up like a hobo on live television.

"Bubbles," she called, speeding up when the blonde had disappeared into a crowd ahead. "I really don't know what you're doing. You have bags full of random pieces, you're constantly rushing ahead, and we haven't bought a single thing that I can confidently label as an item of clothing." She was starting to get annoyed. "Are you actually _trying_ to help me? Or is wasting my time your way of getting back at me?"

Bubbles tucked a wavy strand behind her ear, her attention flickering between Buttercup and the prying shoppers. The strand popped right back out.

"Look, ignore them. Just tell me where the heck I stand with you." She hated feeling like a bomb was about to blow.

"I'm not –" Bubbles cleared her throat. "I'm not getting revenge or anything like that." She shrugged. "This is… this is just how I shop." Her voice had faded, bit by bit, until Buttercup had to lean in to hear her last words.

Great. Now she felt shitty. All of this was Mitch's fault for convincing her that Bubbles would be emotionally scarred or something. She shouldn't have let his words weigh on her mind; even Bubbles could take a little embarrassment.

"I… guess I read into things. I shouldn't have snapped at you." Buttercup put a hand out. "Pass some of those bags my way."

Bubbles handed her a few and Buttercup steered her sister away from the prying shoppers. But she knew it was already too late. They'd made a scene. By tomorrow morning their 'heated argument' would be on a popular blog somewhere, despite the fact that it'd lasted all of ten seconds.

Buttercup kicked herself. She was usually so good at remaining unnoticed. After sixteen years, Townsville hardly cared about the Powerpuffs unless there was conflict. It was child's play to go under the radar.

When they had walked a good distance, Bubbles spoke. "I think we have everything we'll need. You can borrow my makeup, and I'll use the clothes I bought to layer some material over an old dress I own. It'll look nice." She smiled. "So, uh, maybe we can take a break before we call the Professor? There's a nice juice bar upstairs?"

Buttercup shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really in the mood." The Professor would take at least ten minutes to get here. If they delayed the call, it would only take longer – she was already running out of conversation.

Bubbles nodded. Her lips were tightly shut and her shoulder's hunched. She'd clearly been asking for more than just a trip to the juice bar.

"But… I guess I could do with a smoothie," Buttercup muttered. Why didn't Bubbles just say what she was after? Buttercup found this irritating. She felt like she was playing the part of an oblivious boyfriend in a romantic drama.

They turned around and headed up the escalator. By the time they'd settled at a table with their smoothies, fifteen minutes had passed. They could have been half way home already.

Buttercup removed the lid from her mango smoothie and stirred it with a straw. Bubbles had suggested this, but she didn't look particularly happy; she hadn't even touched the tomato and avocado concoction she'd ordered.

"So…" Buttercup said.

"I'm not good at conversations," Bubbles blurted, "and confrontations. And sometimes I, it's like… I get in my own way." She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, jostling the entire table in the process. "So I'm always really happy that I have you and Blossom; we're always together, and we always protect each other. It's like I've never had to be alone." She cleared her throat. "But, I don't know. Maybe you don't… It's like you don't feel that way. You don't like me."

Buttercup was at a loss for words.

Bubbles' hands shot up, as if _Buttercup_ was the one who needed to calm down. "It's not about yesterday. That doesn't matter. It's just every day really… we're not friends."

Her smoothie looked unappetising. The yellow hue identical to the fading bruises running up the length of her arm. She pushed her drink away. And then pulled it closer. Then away again.

What could she say to that?

Bubbles had just now realised what Buttercup had known for a while; they just didn't get each other. Missions had been the girls only bonding experiences, and even that was filled with tension. Bubbles had felt _comforted_ to have sisters? Buttercup had never felt more alone; the only person she'd had, for a long time, was Mitch. Exactly what household had Bubble's grown up in?

"I, uh, I think… you're a decent sister," Buttercup finished lamely.

She got a glimpse of Bubbles; her eyes were filling up and she was blinking rapidly.

"Okay… so yeah. Maybe we're not too close. But, I mean, we've had our moments." It's not like they were enemies. Her relationship with Bubbles was way better than her relationship with Blossom.

A tear spilled from Bubbles' eye and she swiped it away with her sleeve. Buttercup made a point of looking elsewhere. Bubbles was always tearing up, but she hadn't actually cried in front of her since they were kids.

Buttercup glanced through the window and out towards the escalator. She didn't know what else to say; she'd come to terms with their distance long ago. If she couldn't comfort herself then, she certainly couldn't comfort Bubbles now. She guessed it didn't help that she'd given up on forming a real relationship with her sisters.

But she wouldn't say she didn't _like_ them.

Her gaze drifted across the first floor landing. It was mostly empty apart from a pasty kid with dark hair and sun shades. Buttercup snorted; he looked 11, maybe 12 years old, and he was already adopting the habits of a seasoned douchebag. She wondered if his dad wore shades indoors at night time too. It'd definitely be interesting to see.

Bubble's hiccupped and Buttercup stirred. She wasn't sure if she should turn around yet, but it was getting late. "Bubbles…"

Her sister's eyes were red, but that was the only sign that she'd been crying.

Buttercup pushed her chair back and put on her jacket. "We should call the Professor and head home." She tried to give a smile, but her mouth wouldn't quite cooperate.

Bubbles walked ahead while Buttercup phoned the Professor. When the call ended they fell in step, but neither said a word.

They were approaching the escalator when Sun Shades sidled up to them. "Y-you're the Powerpuff Girls."

It seemed as if the boy was staring at the floor, but she couldn't be certain. Maybe he wore those shades because he was shy? Buttercup nodded slowly. "That's us."

"I've, um, I've followed every mission. On the news, and… and the clips online." He fiddled with his fingers. "Bubbles is my favourite," he murmured.

Maybe this kid didn't live in Townsville? Why else would he idolize them to this extent?

Bubbles smiled; it looked genuine too. She crouched down until she was level with his face. "Thank you. It's nice to see a fan with this much excitement."

Buttercup crouched down too. She couldn't contain her smirk. "You know, I'm the exact opposite of Bubbles. Are you trying to say I'm your _least_ favourite Puff?"

The kid began to stutter and Buttercup's smirk dissolved into laughter. "I'm joking. Calm down kid. I'm just messing with you."

She stood up and Bubbles stood too. "That wasn't very funny," Bubbles said.

"Huh?"

"You always do things that aren't funny," she mumbled. She turned to the boy and donned her sweetest smile.

He shoved her.

Bubbles squealed and staggered back, knocking her elbow against the escalator railing.

"Hey!" Buttercup yelled, pulling him by his shirt collar. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

He tilted his head back, and grinned. At this angle, with the fluorescent lights above, his shades were partially transparent. Buttercup noticed he had no iris'.

"You're the Amoeba kid, aren't you?" He didn't answer, but Buttercup wasn't expecting one anyway. It wasn't his real name, just a moniker the press had thought up in the last few months. He had an extreme split-personality disorder; it made him unpredictable, dangerous.

Buttercup let him go. "Okay Bubbles. We've had enough play time with kid crazy over here. Let's get moving."

"H-he only acted like that because you made him look silly." She cradled her elbow in her hand and crouched in front of him again. "She didn't mean what she said. You're still a fan of ours, aren't you?"

"Don't apologise for me," Buttercup snapped. "He's the Amoeba kid. He'll just become a pain if we hang around here."

"I already knew who he was." Bubbles said, standing up. "…It doesn't change anything."

The boy launched forward, in what looked like a flying hug, but his weight pushed them back. Bubbles stumbled to the escalator.

And they teetered on the edge.

Buttercup lurched forward and clutched Bubble's wrist. She had to grip something – hold something. But they were falling too fast. They were way too heavy. She couldn't hold them both with one hand.

Buttercup's eyes skittered around the area. Think, think, _think_. Then she reached forward, snatched at the boy's collar, and tore him off. There was a sharp cry and the sound of something splintering behind her as she hauled Bubbles to her feet.

She turned around. Amoeba kid was unconscious, laying in a shallow crater of splintered ceramic tiles. There was a trickle of blood sliding down his forehead. "…What just –"

"Buttercup, let go. It hurts. Please let go!" Bubbles was squirming in her grip and Buttercup snatched her hand away. Bubble's was tearing up. Her wrist was an angry red, already darkening on the spots where Buttercup's fingertips had pressed.

There was a crowd forming, and people talking, and Bubble's snivelling, but it felt like all of that was slowly fading into the background.

Could she really…?

Was it possible?

Buttercup laughed. She laughed until Bubbles had calmed down. She laughed until the paramedic's hauled Amoeba boy away, and the Professor placed a hand on her shoulder. She laughed until her sisters began to worry, and her gasps turned into tears.

Because someone was screwing with her. After _months_ of wishing, and hoping, and praying for some sort of ability, after all her inner turmoil, it was at _that_ moment she'd received her super strength — just in time to damage a kid.

* * *

The Hummer was suffocating.

Their car clearly wasn't large enough with Blossom's ego as an extra passenger.

"Are you paying attention Buttercup? I'm giving you advice. We need to make sure you know what you'll be speaking about. Or more precisely, what you _won't_ be speaking about."

Buttercup rested her cheek against the window. It was cool, and gave off slight vibrations that lulled her into a state of semi-consciousness. But it couldn't quite block the images in her head; the flashes of nasty scenarios that could take place at the _Townsville Bulletin_ interview:

An overly intrusive reporter.

A wardrobe malfunction.

Hell, she could say the wrong thing and single-handedly end the Powerpuff Girls, something no villain had been able to do in 16 years.

Buttercup swore under her breath.

"Avoid questions concerning the Amoeba kid," Blossom continued. "And questions about your super strength. We can't let Townsville know that a superhero can't control her superpowers," she said with a hint of …irritation? Second-hand shame? "And, it goes without saying really, don't mention Butch Jojo."

Buttercup peeled her cheek off the glass. "If you received your fire breath right this second, without any warning, I can bet there'd be two shish-kebabs. And it'd be me and the Professor," she said, trying to drag him into their conversation. If Bubbles were here, even with her wrist brace, she'd be talkative enough to act as some sort of buffer.

Blossom's face went completely still. "Did you even hear a word I said? Remember that you're representing the Powerpuff Girls; we are the heroes of Townsville. You can't make a mistake Buttercup."

"Yeah. I know. Do you _see_ what I'm wearing?" Buttercup pinched a section of her dress, and then let it go; it clung to her like two opposing magnets. She'd been stuffed into a strapless navy blue dress that stopped just below her knees. It was layered with a fine black lace 'sweetheart bodice' as Bubbles had described it, and detailed with a silver thread along the neckline and the dress' hem. She was wearing foundation, a thick layer of eyeliner, and her dark hair had been styled in loose curls. She didn't look like herself— she didn't _feel_ like herself. "It's not like I'm doing all this so I can purposely fuck up! So just back the hell off!"

"Language," the Professor reprimanded.

Buttercup's scowl was so fierce that she was positive foundation residue would cake in her frown lines. Where was the Professors' parental side when Blossom had been talking down to her?

"I'm aware," Blossom said, "but there are too many topics of interest surrounding you Buttercup. You need to be certain of what you can and cannot answer –"

"Looks like we're here." The car was slowing, and Buttercup stepped out before it had even rolled to a halt. She teetered back, snagging her tights on the door before it flopped shut. If she had full control of her body she'd be storming towards the studio entrance, but as things were, in her tight dress and black heels, she settled for an angry trot.

She heard the whirl of a window behind her. "Good luck sweetheart," the Professor called. "You'll do great."

She was still annoyed, but the knot in her stomach loosened a bit at those words. She waved without turning around and took a deep breath as the studio doors shut behind her.

* * *

 **Grateful for all the reviews! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Enjoy**

* * *

Buttercup was seated in Studio 6 with Pauline 'call-me-Paula' Suzuki, a reporter for Townsville Bulletin. In just five minutes she'd learnt that Paula had a dog named Kipper, a little boy who just wouldn't come out of his shell, and a boyfriend who was only still in the picture because he 'paid more towards child support than the actual father'.

She could almost forget that this was the woman who would try to ruin her life in front of 20,000 people. Buttercup sank into her seat; it was huge, and comfy, and black. It was the type of chair she could sleep in if there weren't five cameras and several 600 watt lamps in her face.

Buttercup felt her stomach lurch and sat up swiftly.

"Are you alright there?"

"Yeah. Yes, I'm good." She tugged down her dress.

"You look absolutely beautiful by the way. Just stunning." Paula leant in, bending almost horizontal to the small coffee table between their seats. "I don't think I could ever pull that off. I'm all hips really." She gestured to her beige skirt suit and laughed. It was a high pitched twinkly sound.

Bubbles had a similar laugh; it put Buttercup at ease. She gave a nod of acknowledgement and adjusted the microphone pinned to the neckline of her dress.

Paula picked up some notecards. "Alright, so… we'll just ask you a few questions. The show should run for about an hour…nothing unreasonable, nothing too stressful. Be sure to face me when you answer questions, don't look at the cameras." She glanced around briefly. "Someone will tell us when we're on or off air, and if you get lost there are signs that'll light up when we're in business."

There wasn't much to say to that. Buttercup had been to an interview before, it was just, back then, she'd had her sisters.

Paula placed a hand on her knee. "Don't look so tense. We're all friends here."

"Okay ladies," one of the camera men yelled, "we're on air in 5,4,3,2… Now."

"Welcome Townsville to your dose of the nightly news. I'm Paula Suzuki, here with Buttercup Utonium from the Powerpuff Girls."

"Hey," Buttercup said, giving a brief nod to the camera's, before gluing her gaze back on Paula. That simple head rotation had caused her stomach to lurch again. She took a sip of water from her cup on the table.

"Now Buttercup, we all know who you are and what you've done for Townsville. You've endured numerous injuries over the years all in the name of justice. So first, I'd like to personally thank you – and I'm sure viewers at home are just as grateful." Paula smiled. But as the seconds stretched on, her smile looked strained. It was like she was expecting something. She gave a sharp nod, and that's when it clicked.

She wanted a reply.

"It's no problem," Buttercup blurted. Her nerves had clearly wiped out her conversational skills; her mind was a blank slate. "I've, uh, I've… always been a fighter. If I hadn't used my powers to help people, who knows, I could have ended up like the Row –" Shoot. She was about to mention them. Five seconds in and she'd almost mentioned them. "Like Mojo or something," she muttered.

"I can imagine," Paula said, without missing a beat. "You've been known as the 'Toughest Powerpuff' for a few years now. It's quite clear that you enjoy the rush from a fight."

"Yeah, I do."

"Huh." Paula's expression looked partly confused and partly comical in its excessiveness. "Then perhaps you can explain your recent inactivity as a member of the Powerpuff Girls?"

Buttercup tensed; Paula had set her up. Friendly? Reassuring? Buttercup had completely fallen for her lies.

"I think I speak for all of Townsville," Paula continued, "when I say, well, we never thought we'd see the day when Buttercup Utonium would lower her fists."

It felt like her tongue had hardened to stone, speaking was a heavy task, and each word she said only seemed to harm her. Buttercup shifted her gaze to the cameras. Exactly how many people were watching right now? "Was on holiday," she rasped.

"A holiday? There were hardly any sightings of you outside of your home until a week ago Ms. Utonium. What kind of 'holiday' involves being house bound?"

"…The type that's none of your damn business Pauline," she dragged out the name, gaining small satisfaction in the look of distaste on the older woman's face. She'd shown up on time, worn a formal dress, and tolerated all members of this hellish studio. She'd done everything right. Why was she being attacked as if she'd just kicked this woman's dog? She didn't owe anyone an explanation of her emotional state.

But she could practically _hear_ Blossom's voice in her head – complaining about her lack of professionalism, rambling on about upholding the Powerpuff reputation.

Paula sighed, deeply, as if she were distressed. The faker. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm simply speaking on behalf of the citizens of Townsville." She paused. "Are you implying that they have no right to question a Powerpuff?"

Buttercup breathed through her nose; it was supposed to be a calming technique. "Of course not."

She was cornered. Paula had twisted her words within the few seconds it'd taken Buttercup to regain her demeanour. It was like she'd entered a battle of wits, where deceit was the armour, and manipulation the weapon. But this wasn't her type of combat.

Avoiding the question would be the same as insulting the citizens of Townsville. Answering would completely humiliate her. "I –" Her throat was drying up. "I already told you. I was on a break."

"Yes, yes, I remember. A 'holiday' you said." Paula smiled and crossed her legs. "But you didn't _go_ anywhere. So it certainly wasn't a holiday bursting with excitement. Was it a recuperative one perhaps?"

"Sure." Buttercup was becoming hyper aware of her dress' constriction; it was beginning to feel like her lungs were being squashed. Every breath was strained.

"Well, don't hold out on us! What were you recuperating from? I mean, surely you didn't just abandon citizens in need so you could laze around at home," she said with a chuckle.

"No." She snatched up her cup and guzzled the entire glass before exhaling heavily. "No, never. I..." she couldn't see a way out of this. "I was dealing with emotional issues. I'd lost my powers. And all my confidence." She was proud that her voice didn't shake. Proud that she hadn't dropped her glass.

But still, her eyes were stinging; they were beginning to water. The humiliation was too much.

Paula placed a hand on Buttercup's knee. "Oh, I had no idea. There were just so many rumours… you understand why I had to ask." Buttercup wanted to punch her in the throat.

She lowered her head, pretending to adjust her dress, and blinked away the moisture. "I wasn't aware that Townsville Bulletin accepted rumours and gossip as news," she said, snatching her knee out of Paula's grip.

The woman froze. Her scowl lasted for only two seconds before she laughed – a gentle and restrained chuckle. "Of course not, of course not. Oh, you're very funny." She glanced briefly to the side, beyond the cameras, and then faced the lenses directly. "We'll be back with the green Powerpuff after this commercial break."

Buttercup stood and ripped off her microphone before the 'on air' sign had even dimmed. Now that the cameras weren't broadcasting, it was difficult to control herself. Her hands were trembling and there was a massive lump in her throat. She stalked towards the exit.

Paula grabbed her wrist. "Try a remark like that again and I will personally reveal everything I know about your 'temporary teammate'," she hissed. "You're here to answer my questions. That's it. No smartass remarks, no derogatory comments. Just answer. The questions. I give you."

Buttercup pried her off. She gripped Paula's hand with her thumb and middle finger, right in the center. Paula's bones were shifting nicely. "I'm not just the toughest Powerpuff. I'm also the cruellest. If you keep pushing me, I might just…" Buttercup pressed until Paula winced. "Snap."

She held it for a few more seconds, feeling Paula's bones grate against one another. It was a technique Blossom had used whenever she'd have a temper tantrum as a kid. It hardly required any strength, and it definitely couldn't break a bone. But the pain was convincing enough.

When she let go, Paula's eyes were watering. She looked as miserable as Buttercup felt. "There's something very wrong with you. Do you even know what position you're in?"

Silence settled between them.

"And you call yourself a hero," Paula spat, rubbing her hand.

"Yeah?" Buttercup glanced at the back exit, she needed air. Now. "Well you're everything I expected of a reporter."

"Okay…"

"Not a compliment Pauline."

* * *

The bricks were digging into her back. And it was too cold. And too windy. And too dark. And this night freaking _sucked_.

Buttercup took a shaky breath. She'd been warding off tears for the past two minutes. She couldn't cry. She had to step back into the studio, and swollen red eyes would be just as humiliating as revealing that she has – had. Definitely _had_ confident issues.

She shifted back a bit more and allowed her shoulders to scrape against the wall. The pain made her feel more like herself— more like the gritty, thick-skinned, self-assured badass she'd always tried to be. And less like the blubbering porcelain doll she was at the moment. For goodness sake, she couldn't even sit on the ground because she didn't want to dirty her dress.

This night definitely sucked.

Buttercup exhaled.

She was at least grateful for the little things, like the strong wind, and the crisp air. It meant she could be mad at something other than her own incompetence. Pauline was crafty, but she was nothing compared to the red head. If Blossom were here, she'd have been able to –

Buttercup cut off that thought. She wasn't supposed to do that. She wasn't supposed to compare. She took another deep shuddering breath, until it felt like her entire chest had been iced over.

" _Shit_ ," she exhaled.

It was difficult not to compare when she knew the person who would have handled things better. When she knew that Blossom would be shaking her head, either in pity or disappointment, when she returned home.

Buttercup pushed off the wall.

 _Pity_.

No. It'd better be disappointment.

Just then the door swung open. Buttercup scooted aside and a camera woman appeared. "We've been searching for you everywhere! We're on air in ten seconds. Get in there."

Buttercup smoothed out her dress and fluffed her curls. Yeah. She'd aim for disappointment.

* * *

The minutes passed quickly. Buttercup gave Paula short, vague answers, including her favourites: 'no comment' and 'I don't understand the question'. She refused to think about the first half of the interview. It was the only way she could look Paula in the eye, but still, the memory crept up on her each time there was a lull in the conversation.

"Alright," Paula said. Slapping her notecards onto the table with a tight grin. "Well, the last twenty minutes have been wonderful. You're just… wonderful."

"Thanks." Buttercup said, it wasn't difficult to muster a disinterested tone. She hadn't forced her lips into a smile since she sat back down, and it felt brilliant.

"Let's take a break from personal questions for a while and just have a nice conversation about current events. We have about ten minutes left. Is that alright?"

Buttercup shrugged. "It's your show."

Paula shot her an annoyed look and then shuffled through her notecards. "So, let's see… Oh. There was a recent story published online about a… Mr. Bartholomew Madden. It was well circulated I believe. Have you heard about it?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, it's a story of a 12 year old male waiting to undergo surgery for a cervical fracture. It seems he was attacked at a shopping plaza sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning."

It was an unfortunate situation, it really was, but Buttercup didn't feel like listening to someone else's sob story at the moment.

Still, it would be rude not to feign interest. "Sounds awful. It's sad that people even go after kids."

"I agree, absolutely terrible." Paula paused. "…You still don't recognize this story?"

"No. I do not recognise the story Pauline." Now even the mere sound of this woman's voice was enough to irritate Buttercup. "Should I?"

"You tell me," Paula was rubbing her palm in slow circles. It was the same hand Buttercup had 'pinched' a while back. "Do you always forget the names of the people you've harmed? Shouldn't a superhero have a stronger conscience?"

"What?"

"The Amoeba kid, Ms. Utonium. Bartholomew Madden is the Amoeba kid."

"I didn't…" How was she supposed to know his name? Everything had happened so fast last night.

But, she'd had hours after that; she'd had all of this morning and this afternoon to check up on the kid. Maybe she'd have learnt his name if she visited him in the hospital. The truth was, he hadn't weighed on her mind. Buttercup had pushed out all thoughts that didn't concern this interview or her re-emerging powers. She'd just assumed the doctors would work their magic and things would sort themselves out.

But… damn. She'd broken a kid's neck and forgotten about him.

"You threw him into the ground with your super strength. I assume your powers are returning?"

Buttercup shook her head. "I don't – no comment."

"Well, I have a few eye witness accounts here with plenty of comments." Paula shuffled through her notecards again, it seemed like she was sitting taller. "Sammie. E says 'Buttercup was completely brutal that night'. Nora. J comments 'The ground shook. She flattened the poor boy'."

"Alright… Yeah. But it wasn't like that."

But Paula just kept on reading:

"'The kid just wanted to talk. That's pretty evil. Why do that?'

'Lesson of the day? Don't piss off a Puff.'

'Buttercup's a Powerpuff, she wouldn't do that… would she?'"

"Are you deaf?" Buttercup yelled. "I said it wasn't like that!" Where the hell was she getting these comments? Random internet trolls? No one knew what had gone down; they didn't get to act like she'd abused her power.

Paula waited until Buttercup had leant back into her seat. "I don't quite understand. Are you saying you didn't mean to harm Bart Madden?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Then… If you didn't harm him on purpose, it must have been an accident. One caused by a lack of control." Paula wore a smarmy grin, but her voice was silky and reassuring. "Ms. Utonium, surely this means that you can't fully control your own strength – you can't control your powers." She instantly pulled away. "Oh. Now isn't that a truly terrifying thought."

"That is _not_ what I said." Buttercup protested.

"Well, which is it Ms. Utonium? It's either you can't control your powers, and you injured a child purely by accident. Or you can, and you injured an innocent on purpose."

Buttercup felt the blood drain from her face. This woman was toxic.

Buttercup didn't intend to make another epic revelation this evening. Admitting that she had no control over her super strength, that she couldn't summon it, or stop it – that she hadn't even seen a hint of it since last night, would just…

She'd look pathetic.

Civilians would be scared of her. Villains would think she was incapable; Buttercup was back in the hero game, she didn't need _anyone_ to think she was easy pickings.

"I just –" her voice faded away. What was she going to do? Confess to beating up a boy in a fit of cold blooded rage? She wouldn't have any sort of reputation to protect after a lie like that.

"Well? We're all waiting for a response Ms. Utonium."

And just like that, something clicked. Buttercup couldn't fight this battle like Blossom would have. She had to use what _she_ excelled in; action.

Mustering up her largest scowl, Buttercup rose to her feet. She took a few steps towards Paula, and watched as the woman shrunk into her seat, finally standing when Buttercup loomed over her.

Buttercup didn't need to speak; she believed the people of Townsville would read into her actions. Some comments would be irrelevant, no doubt, but some would be beneficial – they'd argue amongst themselves about the reason for Buttercup's anger.

Whether it was Paula insinuating that she'd purposefully harmed a kid.

Or the suggestion that she lacked control of her powers.

Either way, they'd see her temper as some sort of proof of innocence. And they'd defend her against both accusations –in their hearts, everyone wanted to trust a Puff.

Buttercup would never have to corroborate either argument.

It was cunning, and manipulative. It was a side of herself that Buttercup ignored – it disgusted her that she was anything like Blossom. And yet, she felt a tiny kernel of pride. Because Blossom was strong.

Buttercup pulled off her microphone, reached forward, and pulled off Paula's. She yanked the woman's wrist and watched her stumble closer. Buttercup placed the microphones into Pauline's palm and covered it with her own.

Her motions were aggressive, but controlled. Deliberate, but slow.

She was angry. And it wasn't just for the cameras.

She tilted her head slightly, just enough for her curls to hide her lips. "You're freaking toxic," Buttercup murmured into her ear. "I'm sure you have a lot of enemies Pauline. You better pray that you don't _ever_ need saving."

And with that, she stalked out of the studio.

* * *

 **Thanks for all the reviews, they spur me on. This was a particularly draining chapter; I can feel Buttercup's pain.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Enjoy**

* * *

"Go."

His shove sent Buttercup soaring. She struck the wall and her head ricocheted off the surface. The pain made her eyes water.

She tried to regain her balance; stand strong and steady. She needed to go for his eyes or his legs. She had to _win_ this time. But everything before her was a blur, and she was struggling to catch her breath.

Butch advanced. He pinned her to the wall with his forearm against her throat.

Buttercup latched her legs around his torso and pulled. But nothing happened. She couldn't slip from his hold, and he certainly wasn't thrown off balance. _Damn it_. She'd been certain she could win this one. She was positive she could read his moves.

It was becoming difficult to breath.

Her legs slipped off his torso without consent, as if they'd disconnected from her body. Her mind was fogging over, her thoughts slowed. Buttercup willed herself to reach up and tap Butch's arm. One time. Two times. Three times.

He wasn't stopping.

Why wasn't he stopping? That was their plan. It was their _rule_.

She tried to speak, but only a gurgle escaped her lips. And just when her eyes slumped shut, she was released.

Buttercup clutched her throat and sucked in air, choking on her own saliva. She looked a mess, no doubt, a gasping watery-eyed heap hunched on the lab floor. "Do you have some kind of problem?" she rasped. "I tapped out."

Butch took a step back and stretched out his shoulders. "I didn't feel it." He had a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his movements were both slow and mechanical. "Felt like you were trying to claw free." He snorted, a smile playing on his lips. "A lot like a kitten actually."

Buttercup shot him a sour look and hauled herself up. He could only say crap like that because she hadn't won a fight yet. "Again. Best 9 out of 17."

"Nah." He hoisted himself up onto a metal counter. "I've been tapping into my super strength for a while now. I'm not about to let my muscles seize up just because you want to play punching bag." He rolled his shoulders back with a groan. "Something tells me this type of training isn't giving you as much satisfaction as its giving me."

The ass. "Get up. We're going again."

He didn't even twitch. "Not happening."

"This isn't just about –" Pain pulsed at her temple. Buttercup winced. "…Whatever. It's just like you to run when things get hard anyway." She sagged to the floor and swiped the sweat from her forehead. Her vest top was drenched, and her shorts were riding uncomfortably high.

Butch snorted. "Hell yeah. Isn't that what everyone does? It's called survival instincts Ballerina."

"Huh." Is that what he told himself to justify the way he was living? In hiding. Practically a prisoner.

He should have just faced his damn brother.

"It's the coward's way out," Buttercup declared.

Butch tilted his head, like he was watching something fascinating. Buttercup got the distinct impression, in that moment, she was something on par with the Loch Ness monster. " _Ms._ _Utonium_ ," he exaggerated the words, "you walked out of an interview. You left. When things got hard."

Buttercup didn't want to talk about yesterday evening's interview. It was the reason she was down in the lab instead of up in the living room. It was the reason she'd avoided her sisters all morning. That night had left her drained and frustrated and humiliated and exposed. It was a fail – maybe not for the Powerpuff Girls, but certainly for her. She didn't want to _explain_ anything; she'd done enough of that.

"Hypocrite," Butch hurled into the silence.

Irritating. "I didn't run. I attacked… but I don't expect you to understand." She'd won that last battle with Paula; she was sure of it. She was a Powerpuff. And she was angry. What was more righteous than that? The internet would be defending her in no time.

Buttercup stood up. It felt like the entire room was teetering, and she was forced to use the wall for support. Still, she raised her fists. "Now would you rather throw insults or throw some punches?"

Buttercup needed a win. She wanted to feel strong right now. Powerful. Threatening. Someone no third-rate reporter would ever mess with. The fastest way to do that, she reasoned, was to beat someone who was above her current power level.

Butch gave her a once over. "You don't actually think you can beat me?"

"I do." Butch had limited moves (something they'd have to work on in time) and she'd seen them all. The fact that he'd reverted to shoving her earlier proved as much. She just needed a little extra — her own super strength, or…ice breath, sonic scream, freaking _anything_.

She wanted a win.

"So come on." Buttercup ground out. When he refused to move she slowly let her fists fall. "Super strength is wasted on you."

"You think so Ballerina? Well feel free to show me a thing or two." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and watched her with a twinkle in his eyes. Like he was at a fair and he'd just discovered a new ride. "For the record, I don't need to learn how to break a neck."

Butch spoke again; he had the crooked grin he wore when he was making some kind of idiotic joke, something stupid and insensitive, probably at her expense. But Buttercup couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear his heels knocking against the table leg, or the scratch of her shoes on tile. Nothing.

And then all at once, the silence ended, replaced by a sharp, high pitched ringing that increased in decibels until Buttercup was forced to cover her ears. She flinched away from the sound, but it seemed to be coming from every direction.

Couldn't Butch hear it? Why was he just sitting there? Why was he just staring?

Buttercup's head throbbed. Again. And again. She lurched forward and vomited before stumbling into the wall, and then everything went black.

* * *

Buttercup awoke to a sour acrid taste at the back of her throat. Her tongue felt both grainy and slimy, like she'd fallen asleep while swallowing a spoonful of porridge.

But she hardly ate porridge; the mushy consistency was too much like baby food. Her head pulsed and Buttercup groaned.

That's right.

She'd thrown up.

In the lab. In front of the muscle head.

Buttercup opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was in the living room. Butch must have carried her.

She shifted a bit, and then paused. What exactly was she lying on?

"You're up," came Bubble's voice.

Buttercup sat up slowly, as if her back were injured instead of her head. She was on the couch, and had been resting on a dark grey hoody wadded up into a makeshift pillow. It looked familiar.

"It, uh, it was the only thing I could find in a hurry," Bubbles said, reaching from her spot on the adjacent armchair and pulling it to her chest. "Blossom said we should keep your head elevated at an angle in case you threw up again. It all happened so fast, and this was on the couch, and Blossom was in a rush. I just grabbed it. I think – I guess Mitch left it here last night…"

She was rambling. Had her little mall realisation made her that uncomfortable? Buttercup kneaded her forehead and opted to change the subject before Bubbles revealed more than she wanted to hear. "I have a concussion, right?"

"Huh?" Bubbles said. Clearly her train of thought had been interrupted. "Um, yeah. Yes. Blossom said you should rest up."

Buttercup nodded and peered at the blonde's wrist. She was still wearing the blue brace. Buttercup felt a seed of guilt take root in her stomach. "Is that brace coming off anytime soon?"

"As soon as the Professor gets back from his excursion later," Bubbles murmured, glancing between Buttercup and her brace. "But, I mean, its fine really. It's nice." She waved her arm around like she was wearing a 24 karat bracelet. "It's pretty. Mitch drew all over it," she said with a breathy laugh.

Buttercup looked closer. That was when she noticed the tiny little hearts and devil emoji's splattered around the brace in a dark blue marker.

"Nice," she commented, scooting to the edge of her seat. Her headache was fading, but that didn't mean she felt like racking her brain for conversation starters. "Okay. I think I'll head back to the lab. I feel well enough to spar."

"Wait, um –"

"Yeah?"

Bubbles stood. It was a sharp, jolting motion. "Thank you," she said, before her limbs had even fully extended.

Buttercup blinked. "You're welcome?" She had no idea why she was being thanked. Perhaps this was just one of Bubbles' quirks – thanking people for existing. Considering the blondes' personality, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch.

"I mean, thank you for the interview –for doing the interview." Bubbles fiddled with the rim of her wrist brace. "I watched as much as I could. It looked horrible. But you were just so brave," she flashed a small smile before refocusing on her brace. "And I think that's why Blossom picked you. You know? Because you're always so strong, and so confident, and she must have just known you could handle it." Bubbles' voice cracked and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Anyway, you were there for us. And, I mean, even if you don't really… really like me, thank you for helping me."

"…You're welcome Bubbles." Nobody else had thanked her. Or acknowledged the difficulty she'd faced. Buttercup had done the interview to ensure that Butch was kept a secret – to save all their asses. But even Jojo hadn't expressed his gratitude in so many words.

No one had acted like it was anything to be in awe of. Bubbles was so easily impressed, and it had always been quite irritating that anything and everything could make her smile.

But maybe that was Buttercup's jealousy talking; it had always been a mission to make her own smiles last. At times it sucked to think that she couldn't quite get along with someone so considerate. It made her question what kind of person she was.

"And I've never said that I don't like you." Buttercup stood up, her legs were weak but steady. "I just said we're not that close."

Bubble's expression didn't change from its mask of misery.

Buttercup cleared her throat, her gaze skittering around the room. What was she supposed to do? She was just saying it how it was. Buttercup stared at Mitch's hoody for a few seconds. He'd said something a while back. Something that didn't seem so idiotic anymore. Something like… "If we hang out for more than five seconds, get to know each other, things could change."

"What?"

Buttercup shrugged. "I'm just saying…" Bubbles was strong-willed at the mall, and compassionate, and open, and maybe that's its own sort of strength. Having a connection with her own sister might not be so unachievable. "…that we should do something sometime."

"…Really? You'd like to spend time together?" Bubble's eyes were wider than usual, and with the rim of eyeliner she wore, it bordered on creepy.

"Not if you stare at me like that," Buttercup replied.

Bubbles' smile was followed with high pitched laughter. She hugged the hoody closer to her chest. "How about tomorrow?"

"Oh. Tomorrow's a bit hectic for me…" She'd been talking about the distant future – they could hang out in the _distant_ future. Buttercup had the feeling that Bubbles would try to cram in years of sibling bonding in one day. "I have training to catch up on."

"Oh, uh, okay. How about –"

"We need to speak." Blossom announced, cutting through the conversation.

Buttercup felt her armour rising. "Well I just _know_ you're talking to me. Brilliant Bubbles over here never gets _that_ tone." She regarded the pink puff. Her hair was slicked into her signature ponytail and she was wearing a white button down with a pristine pair of blue skinny jeans. "I've been through hell the last few days, but it looks to me like you've been shopping. You haven't lost any slee –"

"Buttercup. I simply said 'we need to speak'."

Blossom's expression wasn't frozen on 'leader mode'. Buttercup had become so accustomed to her cold, clipped tone of voice, that she'd forgotten how to respond with anything but anger. "So speak," she snapped.

Blossom's brow furrowed. "I'm not attacking you." Her voice was softer – kinder – than Buttercup had heard in a while. "You did well. You protected us."

Buttercup was on edge. She felt like she was being set up for something – bad news, criticism, something.

"Townsville Bulletin crossed a line yesterday," Blossom continued. "I'll speak with them. But still, I think you dealt with it appropriately. It wasn't exactly how I would have handled things, and yet, you reminded me of myself."

And there was the insult. "I handled things my way."

Blossom paused, and then, "you're relying on the virtuous powerpuff reputation to convince people that you can do no wrong. You didn't even answer the interviewer's question. And the way you did it seemed very manipulative –"

"I handled it _my_ way," she ground out.

Blossom just shook her head. After a while she turned to face Buttercup with a thoughtful expression. "During the interview, you made it sound like you were ready to go back into the field."

"Yeah. Because I am."

"Really?" Her voice took on an edge. "You need to be certain Buttercup. There are no 'holidays' the second time around. "

* * *

 **Sorry for the delay!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Enjoy**

* * *

The click of heels was a faint but consistent sound in the chaos surrounding them. Buttercup's heart thumped to an irregular beat as she struggled to suck in enough air. She choked on the smoke wafting towards her and retreated deeper into the alley.

Sedusa was just ten feet away, parading in front of Townsville Bank like she was a model and the sidewalk was her runway. She flaunted a mane of wild dark hair, wore a plunging red jumpsuit, and ordered her men around with the flick of a well-manicured nail. It was both irritating and insulting that she'd come dressed to impress. As if a bank robbery was just another celebratory social event. As if she didn't intend to fight. As if the Puffs would never get close.

Buttercup stilled her trembling hands and inched forward, clinging to the alley walls. This was her first mission since announcing her active return to the Puffs a month ago. She'd trained, for longer than her muscles could handle, and still there was a voice in her mind announcing her inadequacy.

She peered out from her hiding spot. There were four men in total: two hauling the money into a car, and two keeping the Puffs at bay.

Buttercup took a slow step forward, but flung herself back when a column of flames struck her hiding spot. Her eyes filled up and she pressed her fist into her mouth. It did little to muffle her groans – her knuckles were singed.

That.

That was why Buttercup still doubted herself. What could she do against men with flamethrowers? How could she fight against fire?

"Buttercup! Buttercup! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Buttercup rasped in reply to Bubble's cries. "You can see me? Where are you?" she asked into their communication unit, squinting, but the smoke was now too thick.

Buttercup couldn't stay here; her view was cut off. If Sedusa's men came near, she wouldn't know until she'd been lit on fire. "Never mind. _I'll_ find _you_." Buttercup glanced around the alley. There wasn't much of an option when it came to escape, it was either out or up.

She jogged towards the nearest bin and scrambled onto its lid. On her tiptoes, she was able to reach the windowsill and hauled herself up. Buttercup struggled to find purchase as she continued to climb, clinging onto rusting pipes and digging her fingers into the eroding cracks between bricks.

By the time she reached the roof, her hands were scuffed, bleeding, _and_ singed. Buttercup was grateful for her battle suit, which had at least protected her body from cuts and scrapes. The Professor had prepared some sort of high-density polymerised kevlar for easy mobility and increased protection. Bubbles had revealed that the suit was capable of withstanding a lot, especially when it came to blunt force trauma, but Buttercup wasn't too clear on what 'a lot' meant — she'd never tested it herself.

"I see you Bubbles," Buttercup inched towards the edge of the roof. The blue puff was hunched behind a black Volvo across the street from Buttercup's alley. She practically blended into the darkness with her battle suit and soot covered curls. If it weren't for the flash of a near fluorescent blue line along her arms, Buttercup would have missed her. "That's really not the best hiding spot. Can't you find anything less flammable than a car with a tank full of gas?"

"I can't leave." Bubbles replied. Her voice sounded raw and strained; she'd probably damaged her throat hacking on the gathering smoke. Buttercup guessed she wasn't able to use her sonic scream in that condition. "I can't see where I'm going. What if they're waiting for me?"

Buttercup scanned the area. The flamethrower was focused on her alleyway. "It's all clear." Buttercup noticed that Sedusa's men were gathering the last of their duffel bags. This was her first mission; it couldn't end without her even getting close. "Sedusa is packing up. We need to go _now_."

"Alright. Okay." Bubbles refused to budge from her crouch. "Just…are you _sure_ it's all clear? I really can't see more than a few steps in front of –"

"Get a grip." Buttercup snapped. "I said it's clear, so it's clear. The flame thrower is in the alley beside me – you're fine."

There was silence on the line, and then, "…where's the other one?"

Buttercup froze. There were two flamethrowers. There were _two_. She swept the area. Where was the other one? And where, exactly, was Blossom?

"Are you there Blossom?" Silence. "I've been calling the shots for the past few minutes," Buttercup continued, "aren't you going to point out what I'm doing wrong?"

The silence spread across seconds, until Buttercup's concern darkened to dread. Exactly how long had Blossom been offline? Why hadn't she noticed sooner?

"When the flamethrowers attacked, Blossom and I split up. We just… I don't _know_ , we just ran in opposite directions!" Bubbles was beginning to sound frantic. If she spoke any louder, she'd draw the flamethrower's attention. "Maybe… maybe he followed her. Buttercup, maybe that's why the second man's missing. He went after Blossom!"

"Yeah. I figured. Keep it down," she hissed. Bubbles was still hiding behind that freaking car; Buttercup wouldn't be of any help if the thing exploded.

She took a deep breath and scanned the area again, slowly. If Bubbles and Blossom had run in opposite directions, then Blossom would have gone… towards the park.

Buttercup stood, tiptoed, and craned her neck, but leaves obstructed her view and the angle was skewed —she couldn't see anything beyond the oak trees. "Okay… so we can't contact her. But we can't assume anything either, good or bad." She couldn't let Sedusa escape just because Blossom went AWOL; the pink puff could handle herself even on a bad day. "It's probably nothing," Buttercup added. She felt like it had to be said aloud.

"…You're not thinking of leaving her? Right Buttercup?"

Bubble's tone was one that she'd never heard before; a mixture of suspicion and caution.

Maybe Buttercup's plan was a bit harsh after all. Possibly too harsh. "No way. I meant that you should go and back her up. Search the park. I'll handle things here."

"Alright." Bubbles replied. "But are you, you know, _sure_ you can really fight all of them alone?"

Buttercup stepped onto the edge of the roof and peered down into her alley. The smoke had mostly dissipated and the flamethrower was finally beginning to realise that no one was wedged behind the dumpsters.

"It's just two henchmen and a dude with a glorified lighter." She didn't count Sedusa as a threat. The woman might be able to compel men to do her bidding, but even if Buttercup magically transformed into a guy, she'd never be drawn to Sedusa's bare-all fashion style.

Buttercup dropped onto the wheelie bin. The clash was more powerful than she'd anticipated, and so was the pain. What had seemed like a few feet climbing up, had clearly been a few meters. Her ankle twinged at the impact.

The shuffle of feet caught her attention, and Buttercup snapped her head up. It looked like the flamethrower had taken the bait. "I've got this. Go when it's clear."

And then she ran.

Buttercup bolted down the center of the road, keeping away from Bubble's black Volvo. Her feet smacked against the pavement, and she pumped her arms hard, pushing through the flares of pain that sparked in her ankle. Shaky breaths ripped from her throat and all she could hear was the thumping of her own heart; in front of her was Sedusa, behind her was a searing heat.

She couldn't quite place what she was feeling. Was it fear or excitement? Anxiety or adrenaline? Buttercup only knew that she'd missed this sensation. She felt the most alive when a threat was on her heels.

The flamethrower was slowing down; Buttercup could no longer hear the harsh, incessant clank of the metal tanks strapped to his back. Instead, it was a dull thud. She glanced around. The flamethrower had slowed to a jog, and Bubbles was entering the park at a sprint.

Buttercup slowed her pace.

She hardly needed a plan for Sedusa's level of criminal. Although the flamethrower would be difficult to attack, she firmly believed she could win this battle without an over-complicated, long-winded strategy. She had to get Sedusa. So her 'plan'?

Charge.

Buttercup picked up her pace, running past a shop with tinted windows. She saw the fire before she felt the heat. Reflected in the windows was a stream of flames. The heat prickled the back of her neck, but she pushed harder; she was at least 30 meters away, she was fast, she was far, she was fine.

But the stream wasn't weakening, it didn't slow or wane, instead it seemed to inflate into a tunnel of flames. Buttercup lunged sideways. She hit the ground in a hard roll, and scrambled to hide behind the nearest car.

Buttercup sucked in deep breaths and silently thanked the Professor. Normally, that landing would have left her with a bruised hip and multiple grazes. And right now, she couldn't allow anything to slow her down. Buttercup's chest heaved and she choked on the now smoke filled air. She didn't have the time to fight this guy.

The flamethrower didn't pause. He sprayed a continuous stream in all directions, leaving small dwindling fires scattered across the road. Buttercup rose to a crouch and swiped her sweaty bangs aside. She smacked her fist against the car, but the thud was too low, he hadn't heard over the roar of his weapon.

She needed an explosion, something loud and flashy enough to cover her exit. She didn't want to risk a run at the moment and get caught in fire. Buttercup smacked the car again, harder, and the alarm blared. The flame thrower spun around and a column of flames hit the car. Buttercup skittered back. Seconds later it exploded.

She bolted. She wanted to turn around and see if he'd been caught in the explosion, but she couldn't slow her pace, Sedusa wouldn't wait patiently for her to arrive and kick her butt. Instead, Buttercup strained her ears, but couldn't hear anything other than a roaring fire.

She wasn't comfortable with the uncertainty. But still, she faced forwards. At least now she had time to deal with Sedusa.


	16. Chapter 16

**Action scenes... so much work**

* * *

Her chest ached, her throat both parched and raw, her hair clung to her forehead like her battle suit clung to her frame – but she felt powerful. Buttercup had gone up against _fire_ and come out with mild scorches. Compared to that, Sedusa would be simple.

The femme fatale was sprawled along the wide extended steps at the entrance of Townsville Bank. It wasn't a 'pose' exactly, with anyone else it would be called a 'slouch', but Sedusa had an air about her – it seemed like she was modelling for a double spread in a magazine.

Buttercup picked up her pace. She'd end this with one kick, before Sedusa could even say 'you chipped my nails'.

"Men, front and center please," the temptress drawled, tipping her head to survey the green puff. "We have company."

Buttercup slid to a halt in front of the two men.

She wasn't impressed with the hired help. Fights were only worthwhile if there was a real challenge. "You're dragging this out Sedusa," she said, craning her neck to see beyond the wall of muscle. "It'll end with my fist in your face – whether I fight these guys or not. So let's fast forward."

Sedusa rolled her shoulders, sighed, and then settled back into her position. She remained relaxed, calm. "You're that powerpuff, aren't you? The girl who was on TV a while back. I remember, you wore those god awful strappy heels," she tutted, "sweetheart, hasn't anyone told you that straps do nothing for those shins of yours? They looked incredibly chunky on television."

What the hell was this? "I don't want your fashion advice. And I _definitely_ don't need it." Buttercup was already certain she'd get a thrill out of punching this woman.

Sedusa laughed. "You just don't _realise_ you need it. Take your hair for example. Is it some sort of bob? Did you take a razor blade to your ends? _Why_ is it so limp?"

"Enough of this crap," Buttercup was done entertaining Sedusa's antics, " _sweetheart_." She stepped forward, and Sedusa's henchmen stepped in her path. Buttercup snapped her fist out, feigning a punch, and then swung her knee up. Henchmen 1 blocked her attack. Henchman 2 threw a cross hook.

Buttercup sprung back. His fist swept past, causing her damp fringe to scatter. Her heart beat quickened to a speed faster than that of when she was running; Sedusa hadn't compelled average strangers. There was a certain force and fluidity to their movements that suggested skill.

"Oh, look at those confused little frown lines. You'll develop wrinkles well before your thirties." Sedusa flicked a finger at her henchmen. "Meet Kyle and Darius. They served in the marines a few years ago, both were working fulfilling jobs and had loving families – but now they'd do absolutely anything for me!"

Buttercup poised on the balls of her feet. Marines. That was on a completely different level from Ace, and Butch, and anyone she'd ever fought without her powers. She wasn't certain her skills could match up. Maybe she'd returned to the Puff's too soon. Maybe she needed more training.

Buttercup paused. Kyle and Darius looked quite air headed. Their expressions were slack jawed, and their eyes disengaged. Even their current demeanours were like that of someone who'd just been dragged out of bed. Buttercup found it difficult to believe they were currently marine level fighters; they looked like empty vessels. Maybe Sedusa's influence was hindering them in some way.

"Of course, I had to speak for _hours_ to train them," Sedusa continued. It irked Buttercup that she was so chatty and casual, like they were long lost friends. "…those men do _not_ know how to treat a lady. So, I should advise you to leave right now. Before my boys make that option disappear." She trailed a red acrylic nail across her throat.

Buttercup raised her fists. They could be marines, monsters, or freaking tarantulas, whatever. She couldn't run. Her pride wouldn't allow it. "I don't take threats well Sedusa. I actually prefer to give them."

Buttercup snapped her leg up, slapping Kyle's chin with the toe of her boot. His head snapped back, but he recovered quickly, shoving his foot into Buttercup's gut. She staggered. The breath knocked out of her. Buttercup wheezed and wiped the drool from her mouth.

She'd expected to knock him out with that kick, so she'd been off balance for a split second afterwards. If Kyle was any kind of experienced fighter, she'd be on her ass by now; he should have swept her feet out from under her. It was odd. He wasn't fighting at full efficiency, as if he couldn't access his full range of skills, as if his judgment was dulled.

…It probably was. Sedusa's 'suggestions' must be the loudest thing in his head.

Buttercup gingerly pressed a hand to her torso. And paused. She'd been taking shallow breaths, expecting the pain of a broken rib or the throb of bruised flesh. But there was nothing. She stood to her full height and pressed harder.

Nothing.

Buttercup examined Kyle's massive size 14 sole, and grinned. Brute force be damned. She couldn't be harmed. She had a protective battle suit, and her opponents had limited fighting judgment. She was untouchable. "Here's a threat Sedusa, tailored just for you." Buttercup popped her joints. "I'm going to come back there and rip the hair right out of your scalp. Nice and slow." She declared. "We'll see if you're still chatty when you lose the one thing you've pinned all your self-worth on."

Buttercup sprang forward and struck Kyle with a roundhouse kick. He raised his forearms, but the resounding thud was satisfying to hear. It'd leave a bruise. He threw a punch and Buttercup skipped to the side; his arm was quick.

She was relieved he wasn't at 100%.

She was insulted he wasn't at 100%.

Kyle punched out. Buttercup skittered from side to side, ducking under his swings and skipping away from each hit.

Damn it. He had speed. And stamina. And Buttercup's movements were beginning to drag. She stepped back and a twinge flared in her ankle. She flinched. Her eyes were shut for only a second, and Kyle's fist cracked against her cheek. She felt the groove of each knuckle. She felt her nose give and blood trickle and her eyes water, and Buttercup cursed until her throat grew sore.

She stumbled back and tripped. The concrete scraped her damaged palms raw, and Buttercup was beginning to wonder if they'd ever be recognisable again. She pressed her hands to her nose to staunch the blood flow. A stalling gasp slipped from her lips as she adjusted to her new breathing arrangements.

Sedusa tutted. "Arrogance, child, is a deadly thing. Just look at yourself. You'll probably live with a crooked nose for the rest of your life."

Ha. She'd had a crooked nose before meeting this guy.

"Of course, we could just kill you," Sedusa added. "I'm sure that it'd be a huge relief considering your future appearance."

Buttercup scooted back with each of Kyle's steps. Her chest was heaving, it was difficult to regulate her breathing, and there was blood in her mouth, and blood on her palms, and each time she tried to stand she freaking _slipped_.

And then he was towering over her.

"Farewell sweetheart, it's been a pleasure." Sedusa sang.

Buttercup's hands were trembling, from anxiety or anger, she wasn't sure. She smiled up at Sedusa, certain that her teeth were stained red; all she could taste was copper. "Give me some credit. I've lasted this long as a puff– I'm not easy to kill."

Buttercup drove her feet forward, ramming her soles against Kyle's kneecaps. There was a snap. He wailed, an ear piercing cry, and then crumpled to the floor writhing against the concrete. Buttercup wiped her nose with her sleeve and slowly hauled herself up.

Darius was a few feet away, wearing a vacant expression. He hadn't moved an inch from his spot.

Buttercup stepped in Sedusa's direction and he came alive, repositioning into a fighting stance like he was mimicking the M.O. of a security light.

The puff scowled. Sedusa was _right there_. This fight needed to end.

She moved quickly, lowering into a sweep kick. Darius regained his footing, but was reeling back. Buttercup pounced, slung an arm around his neck and let her legs give way. He fell quietly, and at first slowly, like a tree being axed.

Buttercup trapped him in a headlock as he yelled and struggled. Sedusa clapped, smiled, and then rose to her feet.

"Don't move," Buttercup yelled.

"I'm afraid I must. My legs are falling asleep," she said, tapping her fingers along her thigh. "Seems like it's time for this meeting to end."

Buttercup tightened her grip on Darius, his arms were still flailing, he hadn't passed out yet. "You said you wanted to kill me. So come on."

"And _you_ said you were going to rip my hair out," Sedusa fluffed her mane and stepped into her car. "I see we're both liars."

Darius finally went limp in Buttercup's arms. She dropped him. This was her first mission. She was meant to win this one, hit the headlines with a bang, and prove herself –

Heat tingled on the back of Buttercup's neck. It began as a pleasant hum, but grew into a searing sting. She spun around.

A tunnel of flames was heading her way. Her eyes watered and her skin prickled. She lurched back, but the flames were just a foot away.

She didn't think her suit was fireproof.

* * *

 **But, so much fun**


	17. Chapter 17

**Enjoy**

* * *

Buttercup saw nothing but orange flames, and then, nothing but orange hair.

"Blossom?" Her tone was humiliating – squeaky and panicked. Buttercup cleared her throat, but then decided on silence. She couldn't be certain her voice wouldn't shake.

Blossom stood with her back to Buttercup in an identical black battle suit. The fluorescent pink lines along her arms shone as the fire barrelled closer. And then Blossom exhaled.

Fire met ice, creating a wave of steam that washed over the entire area. Buttercup tensed as the mist drifted around her. It was hot enough to make her flinch – the pain very close to a scalding burn. She backed away, out of the steam, and wondered how long Blossom could handle the brunt of the burn.

She needed to take out the flamethrower.

She glanced back and Sedusa had started her car.

Buttercup reached for her communication unit, hoping to contact Bubbles, but her ear was empty. "Shit," she muttered. It'd probably been dislodged around the same time her nose had been relocated to the far right of her face.

She had no way of knowing Bubbles' current location, no way of knowing how long Blossom could tolerate the steam, and no idea how long she could exhale without a pause. The flamethrower just needed to press a button, but Blossom would need to take another breath.

The pink puff wasn't in a position to stop.

Buttercup sighed, heavily, and ran back into the vapour. The stream of fire was enough to light and lead her way. She gritted her teeth against the scorch of the steam until she arrived at its source. Launching forward, she struck with a kick. The flamethrower crumpled to the floor and Buttercup landed in a crouch, right in front of a feminine fist.

"Wait, wait," she put her hands up as a head of platinum waves began to peek through the vapour. "It's me Bubbles."

"…Buttercup?"

"Uh huh. This way." She grabbed the blonde's wrist and swiftly steered them out of the steam. Maybe Bubbles would be able to use her sonic scream now. Maybe Sedusa's car had stalled, or a fallen lamppost had crushed the engine, or nails had popped the tires – maybe she wasn't too late.

Buttercup scanned the area.

But the car was gone.

She dropped Bubble's wrist. It felt like the entire day had been a freaking waste of time. She'd pinned so much hope on winning. This fight was going to prove, without a doubt, that she'd made the right choice re-joining missions. Despite wanting this, her presence clearly hadn't made a positive difference.

"What happened to Sedusa?" Bubbles asked. "…Is that blood?"

Buttercup swiped at her upper lip.

"Are you okay?"

"Just perfect." Buttercup glanced towards the road. "I lost Sedusa. She's long gone." Buttercup's skin was beginning to sting. Her face felt tight and tender, apparently due to the steam, Bubbles' face had become red and blotchy too. "We need to get Blossom –"

The pink puff stalked out of the vapour. She gave Bubbles and Buttercup a quick once over before scanning the area. "Sedusa?"

Buttercup felt no desire to answer; it was more of a demand than a question anyway. She lowered herself onto the steps of Townsville bank.

"She… escaped." Bubbles said.

Blossom's lips thinned into a fine line, her eyes darting towards Buttercup.

Like hell this was just _her_ fault. "What? You do realise that Sedusa's escape was a team effort, right?" Blossom was unscathed. Buttercup had expected raw skin, blisters, and burns, but her sister seemed unaffected by the same heat that had stung Buttercup's own skin. Her ice breath must have protected her in some way. "You don't have a single injury. If you were so eager to catch Sedusa, you should have come running. Instead, you were cornered by one guy."

"You say all that, but it sounds like you're also feeling guilty," Blossom said, her lips were chapped and patches of ice were flaking off. "If that's the case, good. We were an embarrassment today – hardly a team. I heard that you chose to face Sedusa alone."

"Yeah. So Bubbles could go and save your ass," Buttercup replied, her chin pitched as high as her eyebrow. She couldn't be faulted for that.

"I don't believe that was your only reason." Blossom's iris' held an eerie intensity, as if she was seeing more than was being revealed. Maybe she knew that Buttercup had been eager to fight Sedusa one on one. Or maybe Blossom was just angry that she'd failed at a task. Either way, Buttercup found those stark pink iris' unnerving. She always had.

She sat up straight. "Okay. Yeah. I wanted to fight Sedusa alone, and I sent Bubbles packing, and I didn't try and call for back up. So what? _You_ made it possible for me to 'screw up' when you vanished."

"I'm well aware that I wasn't around to correct your mistakes. That is _my_ mistake. But you two need to be aware that the objective always comes first. Before me and before yourselves. We're heroes, and if we must sacrifice ourselves then we will. We all knew this going in. There is no argument on this point."

Blossom's righteous tone left Buttercup with an urge to roll her eyes. Hero or not, she wouldn't give her life for a few sacks of money. Nor would she give Bubble's or Butch's, but after today, she might re-think Blossom's. It was clearly what the pink puff had wanted.

"'Correct my mistakes', huh?" She muttered. "Please. You completely missed my point there."

Blossom folded her arms. "And it seems like you missed mine."

"It's okay girls," Bubbles said, flashing a small smile. "We'll just get Sedusa next time. I mean, we all made mistakes today – even the Professor! Our communication units were just so flimsy and inconvenient, so they'll need a huge upgrade if we ever plan to use them again." She glanced at both girls. "So maybe we shouldn't really blame ourselves or each other?"

"I'm not blaming myself," Buttercup retorted. At first it had sounded like Bubbles was supporting her, but no. Bubbles was sitting on the fence, like Bubbles always did; the side with the least conflict.

"Okay then. That's good…I just thought I should say it." Bubbles said.

"Right." Buttercup stood up. "So Blossom, should I just wait around with all this physical pain while you pile on the emotional harm? Or can I go and get treated?"

Blossoms' brow furrowed. "We have _all_ had a long day." Then she turned to Bubbles and the ice in her tone melted. "So we should go home and receive some medical treatment. I'm sure the Professor would be glad to receive extra data on his battle suits."

Buttercup lingered a few feet behind the girls as they began to walk. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, each step lit a flash of pain in her ankle. It was difficult to ignore. In time it muddled together with the throbbing ache in each region of her face.

It occurred to Buttercup, that if she'd had complete control of her super strength, she wouldn't have needed her sisters at all.

* * *

The odour of smoke and gasoline still hung in the air. Buttercup had washed her hair twice this morning, using both orange and lemon scented shampoos. But the acrid whiff couldn't be disguised.

She sagged into the couch, and rested her head on the back pillows.

"Buttercup, I think your hair is still a bit damp," Bubbles said, rounding the couch with two letters in hand. She placed them on the table beside her cup of steaming peppermint tea. "Maybe you should dry it?"

It wasn't as if water was dripping down her back. Besides, she'd been feeling a twinge in her ankle since yesterday's mission. She wanted to stay off her feet as much as possible so she could get back to training with Butch. "It's fine Bubbles." Buttercup cringed. The hulking cast across her nose had warped her voice. It sounded particularly unappealing, like she had a chest cold and her nostrils were clogged.

"Alright," Bubbles waited a beat, "but, you know, Blossom doesn't like the couch to get wet. It's a cotton blend, so it'll smell if it's not dried properly…" she pressed. Bubbles seemed worried about another argument erupting. But Buttercup had years of distaste towards Blossom. In her younger years, the Ice Queen wasn't just bossy, but controlling. If some well-spoken words didn't keep Buttercup in place, then the pinch technique would.

And Blossom wasn't much different now. She expected her orders to be followed, if not, she'd just find the right buttons to push. It was Blossom's skill in emotional manipulation that had convinced Buttercup to take part in Townsville Bulletin's interview after all.

So, yeah, there was a high chance that an argument would break out. Buttercup wasn't anyone's puppet. Whether Blossom was mad about the damp chair, or whether Blossom was simply breathing, chances were she'd piss off Buttercup.

"It's fine Bubbles," she said again, dismissing the blonde's worries and snatching up the letters beside the steaming tea. "These for me?" She didn't know anyone who would send her, of all people, a letter, of all things.

The first was an envelope made of decorative board, inside was a glossy A6 sheet made of similar material. It was sprinkled with silver swirls and the message was written in a burnt orange calligraphy, it read:

Celebrate life.

You are hereby invited to our masked ball, hosted on account of our Lady's recent rescue. Join us as we rejoice in honour of her mysterious saviour and her new lease on life.

Princess Persephone Morbucks.

Buttercup snorted. It was just like Princess to milk a bad situation. It had been over a month since the girl had been 'kidnapped' – and Buttercup used that word lightly – Morbucks was unconscious for most of her ordeal, and the Ganggreen gang hadn't even made it to their hideout.

She skimmed the message again. 'Mysterious saviour'. Buttercup's part in the rescue had been all over the news, so there was no way that Princess was referring to her. She must mean Butch.

Buttercup shook her head. It was ridiculous; Princess had no idea that she was throwing a party in honour of a Ruff.

But the longer Buttercup scanned the message, the higher her irritation climbed. She tossed the card aside. It was addressed to the Powerpuff Girls anyway, so she didn't shoulder all the responsibility to give a crap.

Bubbles placed her tea down and glanced between Buttercup and the decorative letter. "Is it something bad?"

She shrugged, asking herself the same question. What, exactly, was bad about this party? Princess didn't know the true identity of her 'mysterious saviour', and no one was forcing Buttercup to attend, so why was she so irritated?

Bubbles' squeal signalled that she'd read the invite. She flipped the card around, scanning the time and date.

"You could probably attend if you butter up Bloss for the next few days," Buttercup said. In truth, Blossom would insist that at least one of them attend, and Buttercup wanted to ensure it wouldn't be her. The red head would view the party as a PR opportunity; a chance to mingle, form connections, and uphold their positive reputations with Townsville's 'best'. Buttercup honestly preferred field missions.

"I have a few new outfits in my wardrobe, and lots of left over material from our last shopping trip…"

Her voice drifted off and so did Buttercup's attention. She picked up the other letter. It was a plain envelope addressed simply to 'B' – which could be any of the girls in this household. Buttercup already found the sender of this letter to be a major pain. She skipped to the bottom, the name 'Bart Madden' was scrawled in black ink with an arrow pointing downwards.

"Maybe you can come?" Bubbles asked, her voice unnecessarily loud.

"What?"

"Princess' masked ball?" Her eyebrows rose. "Maybe… maybe we can have that girls' night?"

Buttercup was certain she'd done nothing to signal that she was even remotely interested in Princess' party. It was moments like these that made her question whether Bubbles had the level of perceptiveness needed to even be a hero.

"No." There was no other way to put it. "Maybe some other time," she added in a mutter. She was partly hoping Bubble's hadn't heard the offer. Buttercup had been delaying their sibling bonding for the better part of a month, and her empty promises were beginning to weigh on her.

Bubbles sipped on her tea a few times, her face unreadable. It was odd, she had never been one to hide or mask her emotions. She was always extremely expressive, to the point of causing second-hand embarrassment in many of Buttercup's experiences, but now, she seemed expressionless.

"No thank you," Bubbles said staring into her mug. "We don't need to." Her tone was miserable. That was when Buttercup realised that expression wasn't empty, it was disappointment. Bubbles had given up.

"…Right." Buttercup didn't know how to fix that. She couldn't give a day or time. There was always something more important than having a playdate with Bubbles—a training session, a mission, a Mitch problem – it wasn't intentional. "Okay then."

She pushed it to the back of her mind and dug through the plain envelope in her hands, following Madden's arrow. Her fingertips grazed against something smooth and soft.

Between her thumb and forefinger she held a lock of dark hair, tied together with a blue string. She made a sound of disgust and pushed it towards Bubbles. "This is definitely for you. Congrats on being his favourite Puff." From the moment Buttercup had seen the Amoeba kid, she'd known he was weird as hell.

Bubbles paused and slowly reached for the letter. "He's just a bit… different." She still hadn't touched his lock of hair.

Buttercup dropped it on the table. He wasn't different. He was downright creepy. Whether the guy was 12 or 24, it was an off-kilter thing to do. Bubbles shouldn't have encouraged him at the mall. And come to think of it, maybe Buttercup shouldn't have sent those –

"Flowers? He's thanking you for the buttercups in his letter." Bubble's face lit up. "You liked my idea? You really sent them?"

"…Yeah. Not a big deal." It was cheesy. Buttercup delivering buttercups. Even so, she'd sent a bouquet once a week, every week, since her interview with Pauline. Now though, she was regretting it.

"It's a goodbye letter," Bubbles said. "He's saying that he'll be out of the hospital soon and will be leaving town. The lock of hair is a keepsake so we won't forget him. The thought is very sweet." But even as Bubble's said that she used her cup to scoot the tuft further away. "Very sweet," she repeated.

Buttercup raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Should I put it in your room for you? Maybe on your bedside table?"

"No." Bubbles squeaked. "Uh, no thank you."

"But you can't throw out a gift from your number one fan," Buttercup pointed out with a smirk; Bubbles had always been too easy to mess with.

When Bubbles went mute, Buttercup reached for the remote and switched on the television. This moment, right here, should count as them hanging out. But Bubbles seemed to prefer something fun and fancy. She had a lot of expectations for someone who just wanted to 'spend time together'.

"Good. You're both here." Blossom's voice drifted down from the stairway.

Buttercup groaned and switched off the TV. It wasn't like she'd be watching anything now.

Blossom arrived and stood directly in front of the screen; surprise, surprise. "We need to…" her gaze drifted over the wet patch on the couch cushions, "talk," she finished, voice dropping an octave. "Butch has been with us for a while now. I'd like to hear your thoughts on him."

Buttercup glanced at Bubbles. It was the same topic they'd discussed six weeks ago. Was Blossom finally on the same page? "He's a decent guy. Why do you ask?"

"I'm rethinking our plans." Blossom glanced between the girls. "Yesterday proved that we're lacking as a unit, but our individual strengths have improved greatly. Enough so, that we can stand on our own. We have no more use for Butch."

"So… what? You're throwing him in jail?" It was their plan from the start; use him then dump him. But it didn't sit right with her.

"Of course," Blossom said. "I'll sort out the details tomorrow morning. I'll be meeting with Townsville Bulletin."

Buttercup got a flash of Pauline's smarmy grin; her skin crawled.

"He can't be imprisoned," Buttercup pointed out, "the Mayor's ban still stands." She felt a small spark of victory in the pit of her stomach. Butch was decent. And this was messed up.

"That's exactly why I'm meeting with the press, instead of the Mayor. We'll warn Townsville that a Rowdyruff is in town and explain that he's a threat, a danger to their families and loved ones." She nodded slowly. Buttercup could tell she was already planning her speech, selecting just the right words to tug at the public's heartstrings. "The Mayor will be forced to abolish his ban on public demand."

Blossom had no reason to back out of this plan. It would work. If Butch even tried to reveal their part in his captivity, it would most likely fall on deaf ears; a criminal's word, against Townsville's heroes. Butch had no leverage he could use against them.

"Um, Blossom," Bubbles began, "Why do we need to do this? I mean, Butch… he hasn't really done anything wrong?"

"He can't be trusted." Blossom said. "I know nothing about him."

"His brother's a freaking monster. And he just wants a fresh start," Buttercup's mouth was moving before her brain could catch up. " _I_ sure as hell trust him." She'd spoken out of irritation: at Blossom for making a decision before their conversation was even over, at Bubbles for making a factual statement into a question, at herself for having a sense of justice strong enough to defend a _Rowdyruff_.

Blossom watched Buttercup for longer than was comfortable – probably for both of them. "Which means you're vouching for him." She still hadn't blinked. "Any issues that arise because of him will be your responsibility. Because right now, I'm trusting _you_ , Buttercup, not Butch."

Blossom's words placed a burden on her shoulders. Still, she held her head up. "So… he's free?"

"He's whatever he chooses to be."

Buttercup had good news to deliver.

* * *

 **I know, a long wait. But the bright side? Longest chapter till date!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry for the wait. Life has been hectic. But I'm still in love with this story and its characters!**

 **Recap:** Buttercup went through a lot before arriving at the point where she was confident enough to go back out into the field. In her first mission, she and the girls fought Sedusa but failed to stop her. Blossom was annoyed, but later comes to the conclusion that the girls have grown in strength and have no more use for Butch. Meaning jail time for Jojo. Out of loyalty, or maybe affection, Buttercup convinces Blossom to free him instead. She then goes to deliver the news.

* * *

The lab was cool and quiet. Seven weeks ago Butch had arrived with nothing but the clothes on his back. Now he had a mattress, a cardboard box of basic essentials, and in Buttercup's opinion, a tolerable attitude.

But the chances that he'd take any of those when he left, was zero. She was certain that he'd wipe his memory clean of any affiliation with the Powerpuff girls.

Buttercup lowered herself onto the last step. If she wasn't here on business or here to train, she didn't particularly want to step into Butch's personal space. It felt too familiar and gave the impression that they were close. Clearly they weren't. He was leaving after all.

Butch shuffled on his mattress. He'd been rolling around for a while and Buttercup had assumed he was just making a point of ignoring her. But his hair was matted to his head and soft wheezes slipped from his lips, faster with each passing second. He was having a nightmare.

And Buttercup just watched. The guy lying on that bed looked nothing like the Butch Jojo she knew. The confident snarky joker had vanished, and in its place was a boy with trembling lips. It bothered her that _Brick_ had reduced Butch to this state. Blossom's counterpart. Buttercup had seen flashes of cruelty in her sister too, on random days, on the occasional mission – usually towards her. None of it had raised a red flag until she'd heard about Butch's experience. But now she wondered, exactly how cold could Blossom become?

Butch's eyes snapped open. His chest was heaving as he looked around the room, swallowing deep gulps of air. He glanced past the area that Buttercup was sitting, but didn't even pause, then all at once he seemed to gain his bearings.

"Watching me sleep now?" His voice was faint and beads of sweat were balancing on his brow. But if he wanted to act as if nothing was wrong, then Buttercup would do the same. What was the alternative? She'd already done all she could to convince him to face Brick head on.

"I've got news," she replied.

"Yeah?" Butch sat up. "Are you here to cancel our training session? Did I sprain your wrist one time too many? Not my fault you don't tap out."

Buttercup's lips thinned. She tapped out whenever her life was in immediate danger. He was just too oblivious to notice until something snapped the wrong way. But that wasn't her reason for being here. She had to speak; she needed to spit out the words that were, somehow, for some reason, weighing her down. "You can go now. The Puffs don't need you, and we certainly don't want to babysit you anymore."

"Huh?" He wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"I'm saying 'get lost'. Can't you recognise the phrase when you hear it?" She didn't want to repeat herself. "I'm sure it's something you've heard many times."

Butch raised an eyebrow. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

When he was met with silence, he shrugged and sat up, his legs still sprawled towards either edge of the mattress. "Whatever. I think I get it. You're saying that if I pass out right this second, I won't be waking up in a prison cell."

Absolutely not. He was free. No strings attached. "But you won't be waking up in a hospital either," she snapped. The longer this conversation continued, the tighter her muscles clenched. She felt a level of annoyance that she'd only ever experienced around Blossom.

Butch snorted, stood, and stretched. "Looks like I've finally earned a bit of respect around here. As the real hero behind the heroes, its way overdue," he said with a smirk.

Buttercup thought back to Princess' invitation; a whole freaking ball thrown in Butch's honour. If he wanted respect, then saving the richest girl in town was definitely one way to go about it. Though in her opinion, Princess was just kissing ass.

Butch roamed to the sink and splashed water on his face. He took his time, washing behind his ears and drenching his hairline. When he was finally done, Buttercup had already taken a step up the stairs. "Well, have a nice life Jojo."

Butch squinted against the water now dripping into his eyes. "That's my big goodbye? I expected a little more from you, Ballerina."

"Why?" She forced her voice to remain level, uninterested. "We're not even on a first name basis," she said, echoing a phrase Butch had used weeks ago.

"Fair enough." He wiped his face dry with the palm of his hand. "So Buttercup," he said, raising both eyebrows in what could only be interpreted as a challenge, "what happened to your face?"

Right. This was a game to Butch. He'd say her name, finally dump that idiotic nickname, and she'd give an emotional farewell as he skips off into the freaking sunset. Like it was just another competition. "If you want an epic goodbye, then find someone who gives a damn about you – however difficult that may be." The sting of her comment was dulled by her bandage-induced nasal undertone.

"I was joking." A smile played on his lips, void of actual joy. "I wouldn't want you to choke on any kind words. I am a good guy after all."

"You saved one person. One time." It wasn't the point of their argument. But it didn't even matter. _Butch_ clearly didn't give a crap about the point.

He grabbed his cardboard box and packed: a bed sheet, a toothbrush, a pair of shoes, and a white collared shirt that definitely had the Professor's initials sewn into the seams. "Are you trying to say that one life isn't important?" He drifted towards the lab table and eyed a large silver microscope. "Heroes everywhere would be disappointed," he added in a mutter, examining the steel spine.

"You can't take that."

"This is my room." He spun the knobs with a flick of his finger, quickly, incessantly. Until one rolled right off and vanished under the table. "So everything in here must belong to me."

He didn't even have a need for the damn thing. He was just being petty.

Butch grabbed the table and tilted it up, allowing one side to lean against the wall as he bent and searched for the knob.

Buttercup snorted. It wouldn't make a difference. "That belongs to the Professor. It's expensive." Almost as expensive as the lab table Butch was permanently re-modelling in his grip.

It was crafted from osmium, a dense metal that was supposed to be lathered in some type of resin coating to prevent stains. By the time the Professor had realised its faults, he couldn't get a refund and the table was too heavy for him to relocate. Buttercup had offered to move it out when she had powers, but had procrastinated until she'd become physically incapable.

And here was Butch, using his super strength to reach for a reason to irritate her. At times she truly believed that powers were wasted on the powerful.

She turned to head upstairs, grasping for the railing as a twinge buzzed through her ankle. A high disjointed creak resonated when her hand met the wood, similar to a squeaking step or the sound of an unoiled punching bag chain. The creak grew louder and longer until the banister splintered in Buttercup's palm.

She yanked her hand away, eyeing the shattered mess of a railing. "What..?"

A crash sounded behind her and she spun around.

Butch was on his knees, breathing sharp shallow breaths as he gripped his shoulder. A brief glance told her it was dislocated. His expression was creased with either pain or irritation.

Butch spoke through clenched teeth. "So, I take your microscope and you take my super strength? Doesn't seem like a fair trade."


	19. Chapter 19

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Mitch pushed his fries towards Buttercup.

She flicked it away, cringing as it soared off the table and landed in an oily heap. She hadn't meant to hit it that hard.

"Seriously?" he sighed.

A herd of shoppers glanced over into the food court and Buttercup flipped her green hood up. They weren't paying too much attention now, but the second someone raised their voice, her picture would be all over the internet.

"What." She replied. "It's not like I did it on purpose."

"We know," Bubbles said with a smile. "It's fine, really."

Buttercup felt her mouth twist into a tight, bitter frown. "As in the royal 'we'? Because last I checked, you and Mitch weren't one person." It irked her. She was feeling like a stranger after weeks apart from Mitch, but he and Bubbles hadn't missed a beat. They'd probably gone on dates and chatted all night, meanwhile, he'd all but vanished from _her_ life.

"Um…" Bubbles hugged her arms around the torso of her white sun dress. "I didn't really mean that Mitch and I were one person or anything; it's just because we're close. Oh! But I'm sure you two are close as well…I didn't mean that Mitch and I know each other better just because we're in a relationship and we kiss and stuff…" her voice trailed off and she was having a difficult time maintaining eye contact. "But you've known him longer. And no one would've liked that; I shouldn't have spoken for him," she murmured.

"You two really need to remember that I'm sitting right here," Mitch interjected. "Especially you Bubbles." He tilted his head, aiming to glimpse her face hidden behind the curtain of blonde curls. It was clear to Buttercup that he was trying to be mindful. Mitch was a handsy person by nature, especially around her, but he seemed to add importance to something as simple as sweeping Bubbles' hair away from her face.

The effort he was using to crane his neck made him look ridiculous. Like he had a cramp he couldn't quite get out. The thought caused a smirk to dance across Buttercup's lips.

"If you'd asked directly," Mitch continued, "I would have said that it's not even an issue." He shrugged. "You were calming down a situation. It's nice. Besides, it makes me feel like," he waved his hand between the two of them, "like you're into this as much as I am."

Bubbles nodded and tucked some hair behind her ears. "…I didn't forget you were here by the way."

"I don't doubt that for a second. Huh. Doesn't that say something?"

Bubbles paused. "That you're a tiny bit… arrogant?"

His mouth stretched into a wide smile. "That you're trustworthy Bubbles."

She chuckled. "Oh." That short burst of laughter sounded as a high-pitched jingle, similar to wind chimes in a slight breeze. Buttercup had decided that it was simply another one of Bubbles' powers, to have a voice that could charm hearts. A regular Snow-freaking-white.

She glanced between Buttercup and Mitch, then at the table. "Okay. We need fries. I'll be right back!"

Mitch nodded and grabbed his drink, taking a long sip while Buttercup leant back in her chair. She was prepared; let the lecture begin.

"So what's up with you?" Mitch asked. "You're clearly in a mood."

She raised an eyebrow. That was a surprise. The last time they'd spoken, he'd told her to treat Bubbles with more respect. That, coupled with the month-long silence, and she hadn't expected him to show anything that resembled fondness.

Buttercup shrugged. "I'm fine. Just not a fan of witnessing all this." She waved in the general direction of the couple. "You guys are making me hear things I can't un-hear," she said, only partially joking.

Mitch snorted. "Dramatic. I'm sure you know where the exit is."

"I do." She didn't budge. It had been three days since her super strength had reappeared. The number of busted hinges and cracked table tops had tripled since that moment, so the Professor had shooed her out of the house while new furniture was being delivered. Controlling her ability was _not_ like riding a bike.

When she made no effort to leave, Mitch just nodded. "Alright. Just hang with us as long as you need."

He made it sound like she had nowhere else to go. Even if it was true, she didn't appreciate him pointing it out. "Are you sure you won't regret that offer? I mean you've been ignoring my calls for the past four weeks. I'm guessing you and Bubbles really appreciate your alone time."

Mitch simply raised an eyebrow at that comment. A second later he placed his drink down and fished out his phone. A minute or two of tapping and then, "you didn't call me once."

"And you didn't notice until just now." She'd gone on her first mission in months and he hadn't said a freaking word. Why should _she_ call first?

" _Okay_ ," the word was drawn out. He was clearly trying to dampen his irritation. "I get it. We've both been slacking lately." Mitch turned to watch Bubbles. She was approaching quickly with two sets of fries and a huge grin. "I've been a bit preoccupied."

"Seems to me like you still are," she shot back. Crap. Even she'd heard the bitterness in that comment.

When she was a kid, Buttercup had quickly noticed that people found her difficult. Apparently she said too much – to the wrong people, at the wrong time. Apparently she just wasn't approachable or understanding like her sisters. At a football game, Ms. Keane had once said that she wasn't a 'team player'. Buttercup had insisted that she was. After all, they all wanted to win, and she'd single-handedly carried the team to victory.

Mitch was the only person who'd made her feel like she wasn't such a pain to have around. He was her only friend. And now they were being pulled apart.

In what way was that fair?

Mitch dragged his eyes away from Bubbles. "You know I would have picked up if you'd called." In the responding silence, he ran a hand over his head. "I haven't been great at keeping in contact, but you're still my best friend Buttercup. I wouldn't have ignored you."

Buttercup bent her head until it was parallel to the table and sipped from her drink. "Uh huh." He was embarrassing her, and it was only the two of them.

"Guys," Bubbles squealed. She swooped into her seat and placed the food down, taking a moment to scoot towards Mitch. "I was speaking to the cashier just now, and he said that he's been trying to get an invite to Princess' ball for over a month. A month! We were so lucky to be invited!"

Buttercup craned her neck in search of the cashier. "Where is he? The guy can take my ticket."

Bubble's smile faltered. "You're really not interested? It won't be as fun to go alone."

"Aren't you going with Mitch?" Buttercup pulled her chips closer, only half-listening.

"Uh, he doesn't really… no," she murmured.

Buttercup shrugged in response; there was nothing to say. She hadn't actually expected Mitch to go. He just didn't have the money to play dress up for an upper class event. Sometimes Buttercup wondered if Bubbles forgot that her boyfriend was a trailer park kid.

"Sorry Bubbles, I just don't dance." He said by way of explanation. "But I know you'll have fun without me."

Buttercup snorted. Maybe Bubbles didn't consider his money troubles because he made such an effort to avoid the topic.

"What?" Mitch asked, facing Buttercup. His expression was as cool as ever. If it wasn't for his stiff posture, she might have missed his embarrassment entirely.

"Nothing. It's not my scene either," Buttercup pointed out, redirecting their attention. "Bubbles, you're the only person falling for Princess' schemes. The girl just wants her face in the news. That's the only reason she's throwing a party – and the only reason she's inviting us." Buttercup stuffed her hands into her jean pockets. "…Using such a weak excuse too."

'New lease on life?' It was just a cry for attention. Even as a kid, Princess' desperation had caused Buttercup second hand embarrassment.

Bubbles gave a mini shrug. "I don't really think so. I mean, it's a masked ball… if she wanted to be _seen_ with popular people, why would she cover their faces?"

Buttercup flicked her chip back onto her plate. "Obviously word travels. We don't literally need to be seen Bubbles." She really had her air-headed moments.

"Isn't Princess throwing the ball to thank her 'mysterious saviour'?" Mitch interjected before feelings were hurt. "She simply looks like a girl who's trying to impress her crush. Butch did save her –"

" _Joint_ effort," Buttercup snapped. Why was everyone cropping her out of that story? She had the crooked nose as proof for goodness sake. "And what's so great about Butch anyway?" she muttered.

The Ruff, who had been eager to leave her presence, was now camped out in their home, refusing to go without his super strength. As if she could just flick a switch and give it back. A few months ago Buttercup hadn't even believed in the counterpart connection—Blossom had made her feel like a complete idiot for considering its existence.

Even the Professor wasn't too helpful. He'd guessed that when the girl's powers had vanished their physiologies became unstable and 'open to possibilities'. After listening to Buttercup's stories about her super strength's appearance, he theorised that there were emotional triggers for each counterpart to activate the connection.

But there were still so many questions.

The girls were the first of their kind, so everything they did was trial and error; that's basically what the Professor had spouted, he was just too proud to use those exact words. In Buttercup's eyes, the puffs were on their own.

She fished out her phone and quickly checked the time. Almost an hour had passed since she'd got here. Mitch and Bubbles were now murmuring amongst themselves. Buttercup caught words like 'special' and 'nice' and decided it was time for her to leave. "Alright, I'm going."

"Already?" Bubbles asked, instantly sitting up like a job candidate at an interview. She leant away from Mitch, just a bit, but it occurred to Buttercup that the two must have been reluctant to touch for an entirely different reason than what she'd suspected. Something to do with _her_.

Bubbles smiled and that's when Buttercup realised they'd been trying not to make her uncomfortable.

In her annoyance she hadn't even noticed. Or cared. Buttercup pushed off the table. "Yeah."

It was probably Bubbles' idea — the 'minimal touching' rule. Mitch, as cool as he was, would have found it amusing to watch Buttercup squirm.

"I know three's a crowd," she scraped her chair back and left. It was confirmed. Being around Bubbles really did make her feel like a shitty person.


End file.
